


2020. Not so new beginnings

by Kammyh



Series: Throughout History and related dysfunctional FrUk [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America/Japan (Implied) - Freeform, Beta-read, Brexit, Canada/Cuba (Implied), Coronavirus, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Political Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationship, Family, Fluff, Germany/Italy (Implied) - Freeform, Heavy misuse of politics, Humor, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Romance, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kammyh/pseuds/Kammyh
Summary: If there was something England hadn’t taken into account when he had decided to give up on the European Union, it was having to be on his best behaviour with his husband during the best part of the transition year.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Series: Throughout History and related dysfunctional FrUk [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135742
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	1. Brexit. Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, I just own an unhealthy devotion to France as a nation and its history. English is not my mother language and neither is French, any constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks to Stars of Yaoi/Lacertae for the beta reading.  
> Warnings: France is going to speak random French –mostly profanities and endearing terms- because… well, he’s France. Sequel to Throughout History, but I guess you can still read it as a stand alone.  
> Additional note: I started writing this story at the end of 2019 and I finished most of the editing a while ago.

“France, get out of that bed this _instant_ or we will end up late for the European summit! It might as well be my last day there: I have no intention to turn up late because of you!”

England, fully dressed, began yelling as soon as he got out from the bathroom adjoined to their bedroom, only to find France still buried under the blankets.

“I don't want to!” France's hysterical yells came out from his alcove muffled by the bedcovers but still fairly well audible. “I'm calling in sick!”

“France, just get over this bloody Brexit thing and move on! I will go to the Parliament alone if you keep being this stubborn!” England complained, putting his hands on his hips to add to his annoyed stand. “Strasburg is not behind the corner, and considering the traffic jam and the strikes I would have better chances to get there on time from London!”

“Go, then, and never come back to Paris anymore!” France complained, this time sounding overly pitiful and dejected. “Go to Strasburg, cut off all your relationships with me and the EU and leave to have your affair with Russia fully acknowledged by the whole world!”

“What the hell does Russia have to do with this mess, now?” England asked then, closing the space between the two of them so that he could confirm that France was not actually crying under those blankets. “Me leaving the EU because of Russia and China is _your_ opinion and your opinion _only_. Not even your sovereigns think something like that, why would you even believe this?”

“Why shouldn't I!?” France answered, finally putting his head out the blankets and, in doing so, showing England that, even though he wasn't crying, he was however quite close to it. “They are older than me and you _like_ older people. Russia annexed Crimea in a flash and now he even built a bridge and a ferry there! _I_ want to annex _you_ and put a bridge and a ferry over you too!!!”

“France, don't be unreasonable.” England attempted to calm him down, sitting on France’s side of the bed and caressing kindly his hair. “We already have an underwater tunnel and a ferry connecting us.”

“But we built it together!” France contested heatedly, making it extremely hard for England to play the part of the more sensible of the two.

“Isn't that better?”

“No! It isn't if you then leave me for someone who is stronger than me!”

“I have _no intention_ of leaving you.” England repeated, just in case it hadn't been already clear enough for France. He attempted to sound as gentle as he could despite feeling just about to strangle his lover, something that made the supposedly kind words sound like a plain threat. “Now get out by yourself, before I drag you out of there in your pyj- completely naked!”

“Do it, I don’t care!” France whined, hiding once again under the blankets only to have England eventually throwing them completely out of the way, thus leaving his naked body completely exposed. “ _Nique ta mère, Angleterre_!! _Va te faire enculer_!”

England, however, just ignored the stream of insults and took a firm hold of his wrist to effectively drag France out of the bed. Even if his husband had eventually gone with the sharp but not really violent tug, as soon as he was on his feet he lost his balance, and ended up –once again swearing- in England’s ready arms.

“Everything alright, love?” England asked, worry and shock now honestly filling both his eyes and voice at the sight of his distraught husband.

“No! I told you I felt sick…” France admitted in a distressed moan, allowing England to help him sitting back on their bed. “I feel faint too.”

“Do you want me to bring you something?” England offered then, kneeling in front of him. “Something sweet, maybe? Even though it’s strange for you to be low in sugar...”

“Go to the meeting by yourself, _Angleterre_ , you can't miss this.” France told him plainly, interrupting his husband’s attempts to help after allowing England to drape a blanket around his shoulders to cover his naked form. “I'll be alright in a while. It’s been on and off for some weeks now, today it’s just slightly worse than usual.”

“The hell I'm leaving you alone when you are like this!” England protested heatedly, annoyed by the whole situation. “Next time don't pretend that you are just having a tantrum, so at least I won’t drag you out our bed and harm you!”

“Wait, _Angleterre_!” France stopped his husband, taking the hem of his jacket before he could actually leave their room to do anything that wasn’t going to the EU meeting. “I _was_ having a tantrum and you _must_ go to Strasburg.”

“Even worse, then!” England complained, turning to glare at his husband. “France, you are childish, no doubt about it, but this is too much even for you. No matter what we’ll end up doing today, we’ll stay together!”

“ _Angleterre_ , you are leaving the EU! What’s even the point of all this?” France countered, sounding honestly confused. “What’s the point of going there with you at all?”

“France, what’s not clear in ‘I’m _unwillingly_ leaving the EU’ and ‘I’m not leaving _you_ ’!?” England yelled eventually, exasperated by the whole situation. “And I won’t leave you at home alone when you are like this.”

“I'll fucking go with you, then! You can't sit this out, goddammit.” France decided, before he wearily sat up to go and get a pair of underwear and a clean suit from his closet, without even bothering to shower, shave or comb his hair. “I don't have a temperature and whatever we come down with we nations are not contagious. I won't die for so little, I hope.”

Despite his words, however, he soon had to sit back down on their bed in order not to end up crashing on the floor because of the dizziness.

“Does your head spin?” England asked quietly, going back to their bed to check on his lover and help France to put on his suit. “You don’t really need to do this, we can just stay at home…”

“I wouldn't need to do this, if you frigging Brits hadn’t decided to leave the EU…” France moaned weakly. “I'm badly beaten by the strikes, and you voting yourself out doesn't help me at all.”

“France, we already discussed this: I'm not my Prime Minister.” England complained, slapping France’s hand away from his tie so that he could tighten it properly. “And I thought that you loved strikes.”

“When my people win, not when we get charged by the Police!” France pointed out, before heaving a tired sigh as he took the hand England was offering him.

“We are not really having it nice with either our governments, left and right all the same…” England commented, as he helped France to stand up, putting his arm around his shoulders and holding him close by the waist.

“Call _that man_ left and I'll punch you, _Angleterre_!” France threatened, only managing to make England laugh at his annoyance as he led him outside.

“I'll let you borrow my Corbyn then, it doesn’t look like we have any good use for him at the moment and that’s a pity…”

“Are you becoming a lefty?” France teased his husband, smirking curiously back at him as they made their way towards the underground garage to get France’s car and finally leave towards Paris-Est.

“For how long have you known me!?” England protested, insulted by such an assumption. “I just think that a left-wing nation might get something good out of him.”

“You want me to keep him in high spirits until you need him~” France kept teasing, though. “You are so calculative, _Angleterre._ We could just merge, so I can give you all the lefty voters you need~”

“Says the nation with Marine le Pen amongst the favourites for the next round of elections." England quipped annoyed, earning himself a growl from his annoyed lover as he eventually helped France sit on the passenger’s seat. “Wish me good luck driving, instead of moping, you should work more on the reliability of your public transportation considering that I have no idea of what’s running today!"

“We are using the car only to get from home to the train station and then from the train station to the Parliament, _Angleterre_ , don’t talk like I make you drive five hours straight all across France!”

“I still think we could have used a cab, a bus or the metro, if there was any chance that they worked today and if you could walk more than a few steps at the time.”

“You can’t plan strikes beforehand.” France concluded sagely, only to unnerve England even more.

“ _You_ are the one planning them! I saw you with the Unions!” England pointed out annoyed. “Put on your seatbelt! When we get there, I’m leaving you in front of the station and then I’ll go park the car.”

After a short trip full of administrative divergences, political disputes and death threats, the two happily married nations reached Strasburg alive and barely on time. What had slowed them down was, in the end, precisely the reason why England hadn’t wanted to do that trip in the first place.

Eventually, France had ended up actually being sick during their travel and, no matter how short the two trips by car had been, they still had to stop a few times along the road to allow him to vomit -or at least attempting to do it. For England it had been the final proof that his husband honestly needed a doctor, but any attempt to have a detour towards a hospital had been pointedly refused by the stubborn Frenchman.

Therefore, after they had parked their spare car in Strasbourg as close as they could to the Parliament, England could only help a pale France get out the car and drape his arm once again around his neck, this time sustaining his weight fully since his husband’s legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“C'mon, love, we are here.” England cooed gently, attempting to hide his worry the best he could. “After the meeting is over you go straight to see a doctor, either you go willing or I’ll have to get Macron drag you there.”

Despite France's weak remonstrations, England successfully managed to lead both of them to the meeting room reserved for the nations. When he opened the door, however, he was more than just a bit unnerved to see his own Prime Minister there, sitting with the other nations in the place usually reserved for him.

“Fuck off to your own meeting!” England barked annoyed, earning the human’s quiet snigger as he left the seat he was occupying to allow his nation and the French one to sit at the conference table.

“Would you have liked Corbyn in my place, perhaps?” He teased England on his way outside the room.

“So much that I just offered him to France.” England bit back, loud enough to be heard by the retreating politician. “ _I_ am a monarchy and _you_ are elected: it is enough for me to _despise_ you on a matter of principle.”

“England, we called him here because we thought you wouldn't come-" Germany attempted to explain, somehow relieved to see England’s Prime Minister closing the door behind himself, and France and England sitting at the conference table in his place.

“I made him late.” France took his chance to explain, rising weakly his hand in guilty acknowledgment before gravitating back in his husband’s arms.

“The main point is that we are here.” England cut short, despite still keeping his worried eyes glued on France as he attempted to comfort him caressing his head and holding him close. “Germany, could you ask some tea for France? I need to get him to the hospital as soon as we finish here, since he stubbornly refused to go before the meeting.”

“I said I don’t want to go!” France yelled unnerved, by then not having even enough strength to look up at his husband. “I’m fine!”

“You are not!” England countered, without raising too much the tone of his voice. “And I said that I would call Macron if you won’t go.”

With a subdued growl, France could only abruptly capitulate in front of the completely confused summit.

As soon as tea for France arrived, they started the meeting, but it was soon obvious to everyone that no topic could have any real attention from neither France nor England. This didn't go unnoticed by Germany, who eventually just shouldered his duty to repeat each and every question for which he honestly needed an answer from England.

When the coffee break came, however, even Germany couldn’t help being worried about the French nation. After some attendants brought in some refreshments, France ended up fighting tooth and nails not to throw up everything he had eaten in the last 24 hours, compelling England to literally drag his husband to the nearest bathroom.

Half of the summit rushed after the couple in worry, only having to wait in front of the entrance of the bathroom, exchanging worried glances among them, since England had closed shut the door behind them. After a while, only England re-emerged from the bathroom, looking even paler than France did when they had gotten inside.

“England, how is Big Brother France?” Italy took his chance to ask, closing the space between himself and the island nation before Germany could stop him.

“Not well,” England admitted, his voice visibly shaking. “I called the ambulance; they should come soon. Could you please go downstairs and notify the security?”

Italy nodded and rushed downstairs, allowing Germany to take his place in front of the worried nation.

“We could adjourn the meeting–” He attempted to offer, only to have England shake his head at his offer.

“If I could, I would have already asked for it this morning.” England countered, sighing in annoyance. “Call the dolt back and have him deal with our formalities too, I'll leave my pass to the staff at the front gate before following the ambulance.”

“It might not be needed for you to give up your pass, not now or ever.” Germany pointed out, unsure about how to take England’s offer to follow through the unneeded formalities in such a situation. “Since you erased the arrangements of these last four years, we’re basically starting anew.”

“Just take it back, for the moment.” England told Germany, sounding visibly tired by the sole idea of having to even think about the Brexit while France was so dramatically ill. “I can come and get it back, if some miracle happens by the end of the year and I’m officially allowed to.”

“I thought you were in favour of a Brexit.”

“I'm not in favour of a civil war with my brothers, Germany, and even less in favour of dealing with all that bullshit while my husband is like this.”

“You think,” Germany dared to ask unsurely, “that his condition is related to the Brexit?”

“I don’t know,” England admitted, staring worriedly down at his feet and embracing his own waist to give himself some kind of comfort. “But I wonder about the timing… We can’t politically go opposite ways, it’s an historical contradiction in terms. Even in the past, we just over-imposed over one another, that’s how we ended up on opposite sides despite wanting and believing in the same things…”

“Do you guys need anything?”

“Yeah, to be honest.” England answered, as he offered the keys of their Strasbourg car to Germany. “See if someone can follow us to the hospital, please. I would like riding with him, if I have the chance.”

“I'll get Italy to do it as soon as he comes back.” Germany offered, taking the keys from England’s hand. “Romano can take his place in the summit, I'm sure that he would be too worried to pay attention anyway.”

“Thanks, Germany. I'll try to get him out then.”

“Is he in a so bad condition?” Germany asked, unsettled by England’s words.

The island nation could just swallow before answering the younger nation.

“He fainted.” He was barely able to whisper before getting back inside the bathroom, only to have Germany swear at the whole ordeal.

He followed his friend, then, and attempted to help him bring the unconscious Frenchman to the corridor, where he would be easier to reach for the paramedics once they arrived.

As they brought him outside, worried whispers began echoing inside the corridor from the small crowd of nations still lingering there, pressing Germany to eventually wave all of them back to the meeting room. Only when they were alone, he dared to sit next to the quite shocked Englishman, who currently showed no real strength to even protest the other nations’ clamour.

“Please tell me, if you were to need something.” He offered after a while. “I learned far too well that politics shouldn’t interfere with our personal relationships. We are past all that.”

England could just nod to Germany’s kind offer and take his chance to actually look down at the distraught nation in his arms. France looked so ill and pained that he found himself asking why he had accepted the Frenchman’s proposal to come with him that morning.

What worried him the most was that he hadn't looked much sick back at home, it had only been a rapid falling from a manageable situation to something that looked like stomach flu... And still it wasn't that, because except for being sick and feeling faint France hadn’t been truly ill until a last violent pang in his stomach hit him not much before collapsing.

There was no logical reason for France to be ill: England had even checked the news agencies several times to reassure himself that nothing disastrous had happened. Then, what was happening? Was this really the Brexit?

He tightened his hold on France –currently resting motionless in his arms- and closed shut his eyes, attempting not to think about how it was his entire fault for not closing France inside their apartment and calling both of them sick for the meeting. Screw Brexit, however it came: they didn’t really need England for the final formalities. He had honestly already worked hard on his own part not to deserve a day of break to care for his husband, and if the English were now back to day one it was all the dolt’s fault.

England opened once again his eyes only when he heard the sound of people quickly approaching with a stretcher.

“Arthur! The paramedics are here!” Italy called, leading the paramedics to France and England.

“Thank God!” England sighed in relief, as one of the medical personnel soon approached him, to interrogate him about what had happened.

“Are you Mr. Kirkland, the one who called for an ambulance? What happened?” One of the Frenchmen began questioning England, as his colleagues checked if France was actually unconscious as it seemed and started securing him on a stretcher. “How much time passed since he fainted?”

England answered quickly all of his questions, while Germany took this chance to give Italy the keys to France's car and arranged to get him home from the hospital after the meeting was over.

In no time, England and Italy were following downstairs the paramedics, who were worriedly chatting among themselves about what the hell could have happened to the French nation. The only thing that reassured England was that apparently he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t understand how and why it was happening.

As he had told the German nation, England left his pass to one of the valets right outside the metal detectors as he quickly passed through the main gate of the European Parliament. At least, he had no time to feel emotional about it.

Apparently, at some point, the paramedics had reached some kind of consensus among them, and as soon as they had gotten to the ambulance, they hushed England to the side in order to have everything ready for some basic exams.

Unfortunately, even after having gotten to the hospital and then to one of the ambulatories in the emergency ward, England didn’t manage to get a single explanation, until the hospital personnel just lead France straight to intensive care and shut him hastily out of the doors.

England swore profusely at how dickheads were the Frenchmen in his own language –earning risen eyebrows from all the other people in the emergency ward, proof that they _could_ speak English _if_ they wanted to– until Italy approached him with two cups of tea from the vending machines.

“Thanks, Italy.” England offered his fellow nation, only to notice how his voice and hands were still shaking badly from the nerves and concern for his husband’s safety.

“Any news?” Italy asked, placing a caring hand on the island nation’s arm to reassure him, only to earn a resigned shaking of head as an answer.

“From what I gathered, they thought he was perfectly fine… Yet they brought him straight to intensive care as soon as they got the results of the last tests.”

“It doesn’t make any sense…”

“I agree.” England admitted, downing the hot tea in a single gulp in a vain attempt to do himself some kind of physical harm and finally stop himself from thinking too hardly about France’s situation. “It looks like they panicked after seeing the results of his blood test and his echography. I _knew_ I should have closed him up in our bedroom this morning to stay at home with him.”

“You would have had to call the ambulance from home, then.” Italy attempted to reassure him. “At least you didn’t leave him at home alone.”

“Don’t even make me think again about what would have happened if I had left him there like he asked me to do.” England pleaded, sitting down on one of the chairs in the waiting room and shutting close his eyes as to block out of his mind the very same possibility. “Europe would have lost two countries today, if not the whole world, because I don’t really know whether I would exist at all without him.”

Italy deeply swallowed at the dreadful prospect and took his chance to hug his friend tightly, in a desperate attempt to reassure them both. It was only a few hours later that a quite pale nurse eventually got out the door of the intensive care ward.

“Mr. Kirkland?” She asked gently, offering England a warm smile as he sat up to answer her call. “Could you please come with me? The doctor would like to talk with you.”

England simply nodded and walked towards her, while Italy did the same to plead his cause to the young nurse.

“Can I come too? I'm the cousin.” He asked her, his voice full of worry.

“I think it's fine. Your cousin is currently out of danger: we are already arranging a transfer to another ward.” She offered, earning England’s suspicious risen eyebrow on her.

“Then _why_ didn’t you transfer him already and instead are making us come inside intensive care? I thought that this area in particular was forbidden to relatives.” He pointed out, his doubts rising even more as the nurse simply offered him a strained laugh.

“Because it's soundproof.” She answered timidly, shuddering as a loud yell addressed to her came from inside the depth of the ward. “Please, _do_ follow me.”

England had no real time to understand what was happening as, the moment he put his foot on the threshold of the room, a doctor appeared on the door, his frame imposing as he towered over England, and started to yell at him in a French so quick that England wouldn’t have been able to follow the conversation even if he had been expecting the tirade.

“I'm English.” He deadpanned eventually, taking advantage of a moment in which the doctor had halted his rant to catch his breath.

The information meant to point out to the irate doctor that he had understood nothing of what he had said apparently sorted its effect, since the yells didn’t resume. The doctor then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _rosbif_ and glared at Italy, who could only rise his hands in surrender.

“I'm the Italian cousin.” Italy offered plainly, earning an eye roll from the doctor and a relieved sigh from England. At least he hadn’t been the only one who understood nothing of the tirade.

“I said that you are fucking _irresponsible_!” The doctor yelled then, in a loud but slower drive. “Why didn’t you tell us of her condition? We barely managed to save them!”

“Are you sure that we are talking about the same person?” England asked, baffled by the choice of pronouns. “Because my husband is male and thanks to God only one.”

The doctor automatically took the patient chart that the nurse was handing to him without even looking at her.

“Bonnefoy.” He pretended to read with a deadpan, apparently not really needing the chart to remember France’s human surname, but just wanting to appear professional as requested by England.

“Yeah, but it’s _Francis_ not _Francine_.” England pointed out, annoyed by the doctor's drama. “I would guess that the difference is quite substantial.”

The doctor crooked a curious eyebrow at England, as he plainly put the chart at his side under his arm, definitively proving how he didn’t need it at all.

“Has he _ever_ gone under the name of Francine?”

“I don't think so?” England asked, surprised by the question. He turned to Italy, silently asking him for confirmation, however, just to be sure that he hadn’t miss something in France’s two millennia of gender fuckery, only to receive a discomforted shake of his head also from the younger nation, the one who had indeed fallen for his cousin’s traps more than once.

The whole time, the doctor's curious stare remained fixed on England. He stopped staring at him only when he eventually decided to turn his back to the two nations and allow them properly inside the room, so that they could actually see France lying on the hospital bed, still unconscious but now dressed in a hospital gown and connected to a couple of IVs.

“Francis!” England yelled as soon as he saw him, his voice sounding full of worry as he rushed to grab a hold of his husband's hand to attempt comforting the still unconscious nation.

“Since when do you know him?” The doctor asked in a monotone, after giving England and Italy enough time to reassure themselves that they were all talking about the same person.

“Since I was born.” England answered automatically, before he decided to anticipate another quite obvious question. “We got together when I was a teenager and we have been together ever since.”

“And you didn’t notice a single thing?” The doctor asked him unexpectedly. “You must have had a full intercourse, didn’t you?”

The strange question compelled England to turn his head to the doctor, his mouth gaping open in shock.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked surprised. “Of course we have, we tried the whole Kamasutra both ways over and over!”

England realised that they looked young, but they still appeared to be 23 and 26 in 2020, not 12 and 15 in 1420.

Even more surprisingly, after he had heard his answer the doctor just sighed resignedly at him and passed a tired hand through his hair, then he walked towards the opposite wall and turned on the switch of the luminous board, in order to show them France’s echography.

“What do you see?” The doctor asked, sounding like a bored teacher talking with silly students.

“The physical map of France.” Both England and Italy answered in an annoyed monotone before they could stop themselves.

They guessed that was not the correct answer only when the doctor turned towards them and rose a questioning eyebrow at both of them.

“Francis' echography, isn't it?” England meekly offered then, attempting to make the previous answer pass like a joke.

“Yeah,” The doctor confirmed, still looking suspiciously at both nations. “Do you notice something that shouldn’t be there in a male body?”

That question was tougher, because they still saw the physical map of France and not a human echography.

Both England and Italy left France's side to watch the map better, then, hoping to find something that wasn’t meant to be on a map. How they would answer to the doctor, however, it was anyone's guess.

“I can't see anything strange...” England said eventually, desperately searching through each and every crevice of the map with his eyes.

“I guess you sucked at biology, then.” The doctor quipped annoyed, and England had to bite his lower lip not to answer that at the very best he failed at geography.

“Arthur, up at Calais!” Italy realised suddenly, tugging England’s shirt to attract his attention. “Isn’t that...?”

England followed Italy's indications, only to end up staring shocked at what he was seeing.

“Bloody hell, that's a child.”

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	2. We don’t reproduce like this

England’s legs weakened at the realisation of what he was seeing, and both Italy and the doctor had to be quick grabbing his arms to stop him from falling to the ground.

They quickly dragged England to the nearest chair then, and –just to make sure that he really was fine– the doctor took this chance to measure his blood pressure.

Reassured that he wasn’t about to die on them at any moment, the doctor gave him some space to breath and some time to calm down and register properly the information, something that Italy wasn’t as keen to grant England.

“Arthur? Do you need some tea?” Italy asked after a while, not receiving even a shake of head as an answer despite his continuous attempts at getting England focussing back on the current situation in any way that came to his mind.

“Everything alright?” The doctor asked then, only to earn England’s still highly shocked glare on him.

“ _How_ can it be?” The English nation asked in a panicked monotone. “ _We_ don’t reproduce _like this_.”

“That’s a quite harsh statement.” The doctor countered plainly, not really understanding the implication of England's words, but he would bet his money on the shock still clear in the other’s eyes and on him being English, rather than on his words having actual meaning.

“It's not harsh. _Believe me_ , not even women _like us_ reproduce _this_ way.” England contradicted him, used to France’s way to insult him enough to perceive clearly the mocking edge in the French doctor’s words.

“Should we call France's Prime Minister or his President?” Italy asked England eventually, attempting to speak at a volume low enough to be barely heard by the doctor.

“I have no idea, this doesn’t make any sense!” England yelled back at him, by then having lost his grasp of what he was allowed to say or not out loud.

“Look, you can take all the time you need to come to terms with parenthood,” the doctor attempted to say as kindly as he could manage, deciding that one way or another they didn’t have all day and they ought to be productive, “but I _must_ know as soon as possible, if you are more likely to keep the child or not. Nothing will be set in stone, but I need at least a general idea of what you two might want.”

“What!?” England yelled back to the doctor, completely missing the point of such a question. “Right now!? But why?”

“Because it's _late,_ considering that the situation seems… problematic.” The doctor answered sternly, putting quite a lot of emphasis on ‘late’. “If there is even one chance that you don’t want it, I need to know _now_ , to have the office prepare all the red tape needed since we have a shortage of personnel, not to mention all the medical exams we need to put on schedule. On the other hand, if there is even one chance that you want to keep it, I need to inform the nutritional department to prepare a proper diet in order to prevent another threat of miscarriage.”

“Mis- carriage?” England stuttered in panic. “How could it have happened?”

“Your husband is in perfect health –if we consider him as a standard male– but if we consider what a pregnant woman needs, his values are off the scale,” the doctor explained professionally, taking out two different sets of blood results and an additional paper. “ _Here_ are the blood test values as interpreted for a man. _Here_ , the positive note the lab sent back after one of the paramedics asked them to humour her and check if he was positive for a pregnancy test. _Here_ you can see the blood test values as interpreted for a pregnant woman.”

“The last chart doesn’t have a single value right.” England noted, ending up somehow even more scared than before.

“Yeah. The blood tests are a mess and the hormonal balance is completely upside down.” The doctor kept explaining, sounding honestly at a loss about what to do. “This, of course, if we are willing to take for granted that he would need what a pregnant woman needs, something that’s entirely up to debate. There’s a certain universal truth, though: children need progesterone. Here instead, we only have testosterone.”

“Well, a male body is supposed to produce testosterone, even more one like Francis'.” England countered automatically, staring up at the doctor visibly confused. “No matter if he can still pass for a woman when he puts his mind to it, that’s because he's good with makeup and fashion.”

“Are you _sure_ that he isn't taking any additional help in either direction?” The doctor directly asked, then, making England finally understand the point of several of the questions he had been asked along the way.

“He _absolutely_ is not, he can’t get the difference between a man and a woman even if his life depended on it, but he is a man. Physically, I've seen him naked since we couldn't even walk properly and for everything else we’ve lived together in symbiosis even before we got married.”

“And was this more or less than two months ago?” The doctor enquired doubtfully.

“More than a hundred! I know him better than I know myself!” England answered automatically, despite not really understanding the question. “Why?”

“The embryo is between 6 and 8 weeks, it was conceived two months ago at most.”

“Bloody hell.” England realised in shock. “It might really be _my_ fault. _Again_!”

“Arthur?” Italy asked reproachfully, quickly earning England’s guilty stare on him.

“I didn’t mess with magic _this time_!” England protested heatedly, highly offended by Italy's implicit supposition. “But two months ago I had my elections and the child is at Calais...”

“The strikes in France started not much before that,” Italy pointed out, eventually giving up safety in order to attempt calming down England the best he could. “It might have been just those or a mix of different things.”

“Why do I always end up hurting him, even though we are not at war?” England whimpered eventually, barely managing not to cry as allowed Italy to hug him for comfort.

“Why are you saying that?” Italy asked confused, only to earn England’s panicked stare back on him.

“Because if this is Brexit, the only way to abort this child is using the transition term to give up on it, but-" England yelled aloud, stopping however more because he couldn't enunciate the words he meant to say than because he honestly cared about the doctor thinking they were insane.

“But if it is _your_ child, Big Brother France will never accept aborting it.” Italy finished for him, earning a silent nod from England. “If he still has aces in his sleeve not to let you go, he will never use them. Not anymore.”

“And he might even end up dying for it along the way, because of our politics or because of this pregnancy.” England took after Italy. “He might very well die for a political choice he opposed from the very beginning.”

“You had the right to have it your own way, though.” Italy offered to England, only to have the island nation shaking his head at him. “If it doesn’t work in the long run, it’s not like you can’t come back after all. You know that we’ll take you back one way or the other and the child might be safe by that time no matter what you do.”

“That’s not the point.” England tried to explain. “I should have planned our withdrawal together. I knew this bet was too dangerous, but I thought that if it went bad it would be just a risk _I_ was taking on myself. I never thought it would involve him as well…”

That said England just began sobbing in Italy’s embrace, leading the extremely confused doctor to attempt asking to the only other occupant of the room that wasn’t having a nervous breakdown or that wasn’t attempting to contain one.

He checked his watch, then, deemed it late enough to try waking up the sleeping beauty, and walked towards the hospital bed to lean over France, shaking lightly his shoulder.

“Mr. Bonnefoy? I'm your doctor, can you hear me?” The doctor asked kindly, enunciating each word ever so slowly and earning soon Italy and England’s confused stares on him as well as a groan from France. “Mr. Bonnefoy, I need to know if you are opposed to have a child. You can change your mind later on, but I need to get the papers done in case you will not want it.”

“I don’t want another child, we already have four...” Was the barely audible mumbled answer that came from the still barely awake nation. “We still have our colonies as well, it’s too much work...”

“Well, not much for coherence, but it still is an answer.” The doctor concluded, standing up properly in order to go back to the adjacent room and ask for the abortion papers to be compiled by the hospital personnel. At the same time, however, England angrily stood up to stride towards France and take the doctor’s place, since his husband had obviously understood nothing of what was going on.

“The hell _this_ is his answer, _I_ 'll show you how it's done with _him_!” He yelled annoyed, successfully making the doctor stop as England leaned over his husband. “Oi, frog! You are bloody pregnant! It's _not_ just a theory!”

“What the fuck!?” France yelled as he sat up all of sudden, managing to send his husband backwards on the floor with his sudden movement before he felt a series of twinges of pain all over his body and he had to lay back down with a groan. “ _C'est quoi ce bordel_ , _Angleterre_??”

“Lay down, you idiot, they barely managed to save you and the baby!” England protested as he attempted to get back on his feet, successfully making France to look back at the doctor and finally understand where they were.

“But we don’t reproduce like that!” The Frenchman countered however, as soon as England was once again at his side, only to earn a simple resigned shrug from his lover.

“I didn’t use magic, though.” England decided to point out, however, just to be sure that France wouldn’t kill him within the following hour. “ _This_ _time_.”

“Magic that you know of, _rosbif_.” France complained, not really sure if he wanted to trust his husband on that.

Another problem, however, soon came to his mind and he began to pat and tease his own upper chest several times. Before letting his hands rest at his side and stare back at England, it was impossible for his husband not to notice how France had furtively rested his hand on his stomach, only to move it away as if it had touched fire as soon as he had noticed what he was doing.

“Fuck it, _Angleterre_ , I won’t have any milk!” France realised worriedly. “Or will I?”

He attempted to rush out the bed to watch the echography he had noticed still luminous on the wall and check his own situation, then, but England and the doctor had to be quick catching him before he crashed on the floor dragging with him also the IVs. Eventually, with England’s help to sustain him and the doctor’s assistance to move the IVs along, France could finally escape the hospital bed and stare up at his own map, only to blatantly miss the important things. 

“Where could milk come out from?” France asked after a while with a discomforted pout. “Maybe the Seine?”

“Why not? Maybe from Camembert… Fuck it, France! Why are you even worrying about the milk?” England shouted flabbergasted at his husband, damning himself to have trusted his husband to be any better than this. “You never had milk for Canada and America and I never had milk for Sealand! What about worrying about how you will get through the next seven months alive and how to get the kid out of you!?”

“You are not wrong.” France admitted, as his eyes stopped still on _Pas-de-Calais_ as soon as he noticed _the anomaly_ on his map.

“ _Angleterre_... It's up at Calais.” He murmured, his voice now laced with emotion, as he held closer to England for both sustain and comfort. “It's... It might really be ours, not just a political slip-up.”

“It would be ours no matter what, France.” England told him reassuringly, kissing his cheek with love. “I will never leave you alone, no matter what this is and what you want to do with it, but _you_ have to decide.”

“If it's ours, there’s no real choice for me to make, isn’t there?” France admitted plainly, not really managing to look away from the nut shaped form now that he had noticed it.

“What if it wasn’t?” England asked, attempting to show to France all his worry. “What if the choice is eventually between it and you?”

“What would you do in my place?” France asked rhetorically, still ignoring England desperate plea.

“I would bring it to term no matter what, if it was up to me, but-”

“But it's _me_ we are talking about.” France concluded plainly, knowing his husband better than anyone else in the world did. “You will never allow it to harm me. That’s something reserved only to you.”

“Yeah.” England admitted seriously. “Even though you are the one who has to decide, I'll be against it if it comes to decide between the two of you.”

“That’s cruel, _Angleterre_.” France countered pointedly to his husband, finally staring seriously back at him. “I don’t want to choose between the child and your support.”

“You will always have my support, France. Just... have mercy on me and let me tell you plainly how I feel.” England pleaded. “I’m physically unable to support something that might get me away from you.”

France couldn’t stop himself from smiling at his lover, and then he captured his lips in a soft kiss that was soon returned. They separated only when they heard the voice of the doctor talking on the ICU internal phone.

“Hi, obstetrics here. Could you please move forward with that diet I told you about for Mr. Bonnefoy? Thanks, send it to us at the maternity ward and to the canteen, I’m still keeping him here a couple of weeks under observation.”

They waited for the doctor to finish his call and give his attention back to them, before they could ask him what he had in mind.

“ _Weeks_?” France was the first to ask, shocked by the prospect.

“I've decided to treat you as a high risk pregnancy.” The doctor explained him. “To check if the treatment goes on well, you will be staying here until I'm certain that you can stand on your feet without collapsing and causing harm to either of you.”

“France is fine now, though.” England complained, holding France closer to him by the waist. “Is that really necessary?”

“We are a _French_ hospital and no matter how much efforts our last few governments put on it, we are meant to save lives not have businesses earn money out our inefficiencies.” The doctor pointed out haughtily. “Now: I want the Frenchman on the bed and the Englishman with his mouth shut until I say otherwise.”

“Socialist frogs.” England muttered annoyed, only to be answered with “Capitalist _rosbifs_.” by both France and the doctor.

“C'mon, off your feet!” The doctor then ordered to France, dragging the other Frenchman back to the bed along with the IVs. “I'll call the nurses.”

It took the doctor and the nurses quite a while to sort out France’s IVs enough to allow him to be transferred to the single room they had arranged for him, but as soon as they were certain that taking those away wouldn’t put France and the baby in danger the trip in itself wasn’t very long.

“We will have to get something from home-" England realised as soon as the nurses had left them once again alone with the doctor.

“The _Italian cousin_ offered himself up for the task." The doctor pointed out in a deadpan while scribbling something on France's chart, apparently having had enough of the nations for the day.

“You are taking it awfully well, considering that we didn’t really bother using our human names as the situation derailed.” France noticed, relieved to be finally free to move how he wanted without the IVs.

“I don’t work in mental health department. My job is to deliver children.” The doctor answered annoyedly before looking up to France. “And I guessed that there was something wrong with you the moment I noticed my patient had a fully male biology and that there were the words _the Prime Minister or the President_ written along with your next of kin on the list of people to call in case of an emergency.”

“Fuck it, so they already know?” France complained, letting himself fall on the soft pillows provided by the maternity ward.

“I turned off your mobile as soon as I called for the ambulance.” England attempted to reassure his lover, only to earn a risen eyebrow from his husband.

“You really are naïve sometimes, _Angleterre_ -”

Right on cue, England’s phone started to ring, the name of France’s Prime Minister appearing on the screen. After he answered, however, he had just enough time to greet him and tell him that France had eventually woken up before the Frenchman began to scream at them so loudly that England had to put the phone at a certain distance from his ear not to end up deaf.

“Why are you Frenchmen always yelling?” England asked eventually, while they were waiting for France’s Prime Minister to finish his rant –of which they could understand only that he thought they had been irresponsible.

“Because you Englishmen never listen.” was the only answer the two Frenchmen in the room granted him, before the doctor went back to scribbling and France to moping.

Not much after Philippe had finished screaming and silence had resumed inside the hospital room, Italy arrived with a small trolley striped in vertical blue white and red, soon followed by Germany, who was instead holding a sports bag displaying union jacks all over.

“Big Brother’s sovereigns managed to send us your luggage from Paris, I hope they got everything alright.” Italy explained cheerfully, glad to see his cousin fully awake.

The doctor, however, just glared at the two bags Italy and Germany had brought inside the room, before his reproachful gaze turned on the two husbands, who could just look back guiltily at him.

“The union jack lover can help my nationalistic _camarade_ change into a loose pyjama, please? I hope you two have better tastes in clothing.” He deadpanned, visibly shocked by the abuse of flags.

France and England could just appear contrite at the reprimand, before the island nation actually took his lover's arm to put it once again around his neck and accompany him to the bathroom, taking care to steal France’s tricolored trolley from Italy's hands before closing the door behind them.

“How is France, doctor?” Germany asked worried, holding England’s bag close in his arms in the vain hope to quieten down his worries.

“Are you another one of those calling himself as a nation?” The doctor felt the need to ask, subduing quickly Germany.

“We _are_ nations, though-" Italy protested weakly, only to be swatted on the back of his head by his boyfriend and earn the doctor’s resigned sigh for the plain admission.

“Mr. Bonnefoy will have a high-risk pregnancy regardless of how much we are able to stabilize his values: he should have as little stress and work as possible. If you could help Mr. Kirkland to ensure that, it would be much appreciated, since I’m not counting on our politicians to be of any help.”

“We don’t reproduce like that, though...” Germany took his chance to complain, though, earning the doctor’s scoff for it.

“I'm a doctor who was supposed to deal with only biologically female bodies and now my patient has a completely male biology –if _I_ 'm adapting, _you_ should do the same.” The Frenchman cut him short, glad to notice France and England re-emerging from the bathroom but unsure how to take France’s long nightshirt straight from the 1700s. At least it was beige and not tricolored.

“Back to you two.” He continued, as he approached France’s bed together with the two husbands. “I ordered the IVs away for the moment, but Mr. Bonnefoy is still getting supplements: progesterone in particular but also vitamins and folate. I'll see if a change in diet and standard doses are enough to keep you in line, otherwise I will have to prescribe something heavier and put you back on IV until we get it right.”

“Then,” The doctor went on explaining, now checking a list he had wrote down on his chart despite eyeing meaningfully France. “No strenuous activities–”

“Why are you looking at me as if you mean _no sex_?” France protested at the menacing words.

“Because that's exactly what I mean, as long as you are here.” The other Frenchman explained, much to France’s annoyance. “Who’s the top?”

“I'm the top!” France answered, while at the same time England said “We switch!”

The doctor glared once again at them both and wrote a note on his chart.

“Forget both until the kid is out.” He ordered pointedly. “I want Mr. Bonnefoy to forget he can even move his hips. As for now, forget it all, and once you’re out of here, don't think you are allowed to do whatever you want even with my leeway.”

“I never heard about sex prescriptions during pregnancies!” France countered, feeling slightly outraged at the depressing prospect.

“And I never heard of a top so little shocked by the fact that he can't fuck his lover and a switch so much in panic at the same news.”

“I'm not a bottom!” Both husbands yelled at the same time, only to be glared once again by the doctor.

“Aside that: no stress, no smoking, no drinking, no eating too much elaborated food-”

“Do you realise that I have to live with him, right?” England protested, already trembling at the prospect.

“I wasn’t the one telling you to get him pregnant.” The doctor pointed out matter-of-factly.

“What am I supposed to do then?” France whined instead. “Smoke, drink, fight, have sex and cook is all I do!”

“Read something not work related, talk with your husband and decide the following steps to take together, sleep...” The doctor started enumerating in a monotone. “I don’t care what you come up with, as long as you are off your fucking feet.”

“About the things we should talk about together, when can we have a paternity test?” England took his chance to ask, only to end up incinerated by the doctor’s glare.

“Englishmen are as lovely husbands as I thought.” He countered irately, putting his hand on his hips in exasperation. “If you are planning some late term home induced abortion behind my back, the answer is _never_!”

“My concern is for the child as much as for my husband! I won’t leave France alone or plan something weird, even if we discover that this is something born out France’s interior politics!” England pointed out, offended by the statement. “But we _need_ to know from where the child comes, it would ease stress also from France's heart.”

The doctor looked towards France to assess the situation, and after receiving a nod from his nation turned once again to England.

“Since we can’t count weeks the usual way: the latest day for the conception, when would it be?”

“December the 12th.” England answered him without the slightest doubt.

“Since we are after the seventh week, we could try even now.” The doctor answered grudgingly, clearly not entirely trusting England on the matter. “On _your_ charge.”

“Ooh, so even in France free healthcare has some limits.” England teased, amused by the additional point the doctor had made.

“Public healthcare completely or almost free of charge is limited to, strangely enough, _health_ care.” The doctor cut short, before heading outside the room. “I'm leaving you two alone now. If there are problems, check in with the nurses, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow.”

“What a strange guy.” England noted as soon as the doctor was out of hearing range.

“He's just doing his job.” France pointed out, sounding almost fond of the man who had annoyed him the last couple of hours. “For my people doing their job properly is a matter of personal pride and self-realisation.”

“Has he already told you when you can be back to work?” Germany took his chance to ask as he moved closer to give England his own change of clothes, only to have France shaking sadly his head at him.

“I guess he won’t even give us a possible date for discharge before the end of the next week.” England answered Germany, accepting the sports bag but then proceeding to help France getting more comfortable on the bed. As soon as he was comfortable enough, however, the Frenchman just plainly dragged him to sit down at his side so that he could cuddle against him properly.

“I'm sorry, now I don’t even have my inside man to the meetings anymore.” France said to the German nation, despite not sounding sorry at all while he tightened his arms around England’s waist in warm affection.

“Don't worry, _I_ 'll pass on the information you and your government will require~” Italy took his chance to offer kindly, missing completely France’s intentions. “If you need anything, just ask.”

“Thanks Italy, but I think that I just want a bit of quiet for a while at the moment.” France answered his cousin, making his request more explicit. Both cousins shared a quick glance of acknowledgement, then, and soon Italy took Germany’s arm in his to drag him outside the room.

“We'll come back to see you in a couple of days, then! Have a nice rest!” Italy weaved them goodbye before Germany could ask more details to any of the other nations, dragging the still confused and surprised German nation outside the room.

Only when they were finally alone, France let his forehead rest against England’s in a silent request for comfort.

“What do you think, England? Really.” He asked hesitantly.

England then looked up to watch his lover properly in the eyes and was not really surprised to see all kinds of emotions there: doubt, fear, hope… Facing all that, the first thing that he felt the need to do was to kiss him chastely on the lips, so that at least his love for him would be clear to France.

“I think that I love you.” England put in clear words then, earning however only a disappointed frown from the Frenchman. “I would really like to feel only happy about having another child with you, but I'm so scared to lose you that–"

“I thought you wouldn’t wait a second before exploiting my weakness, you know _Angleterre_?” France interrupted him, as he laid down fully on his back, dragging England over him. “Am I not of any interest to you? Your favourite enemy nation is fragile here, under you, without a single light at the end of a dark and scary tunnel… are you not going to take your chance on me?”

England could only swallow at the plain provocation, unable to look away from France’s eyes, which were currently looking up at him in a so defenceless way that scared him to the core. They scared him, made him tremble and fear that maybe, if he put his mind to it, he could honestly lay his hands on French territory.

“I– I actually–" was all England managed to say before France just grinned up at him and effectively managed to overturn their positions, so that England ended up laying under him instead.

“You will never manage to kill me, _Angleterre_ , you’ve proven it this very moment. Fretting about the outcome of this pregnancy is useless,” France offered him haughtily, “Whatever is coming from you is not enough to break me. You will never kill me off indefinitely… and neither will I, you. And that’s what will make this situation and whatever will happen in our future completely fine.”

France kissed England with passion for a moment, and then he offered him an honestly cheerful smile that froze the heart inside England’s chest.

“You worry too much, _mon cher_ , think about the pros of this! We are going to have another cute baby!” France concluded cheerfully, leaving a quite astonished England to stare at him, though, as a strong wave if nausea hit him and he had to stand back up and rush to the bathroom adjoined to the hospital room.

“But... I _do_ want you...” England allowed himself to admit in a feeble voice, his tongue moving to wet his lips at the sole prospect of actually putting his hands on French territory. France’s green lands, his food, his drugs, his luxury manufacture, his share in the gaming market, his cultural productions, his weapons, his military and nuclear power… why had he refused back in 1956 again? Damn everything, he really wanted the damned frog.

He could only sigh loudly at the thought, however, as he closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to be able to recompose himself a little bit before facing his lover once again.

No matter the smiles or the teasing, France was honestly scared –he was just putting up a smart facade because England was just as scared as he was. Both of them were scared of what laid inside them, and the thought of ending up unwillingly hurting their lover, one way or another, was making everything worse. Still, France was right: they had to look at the bright side of all this… and the bright side was their child. No matter how it came to be.

If France, who was the one most effected by the situation, could work around it in an attempt to cheer him up, certainly England couldn’t not rise to the challenge.

“You bloody git, the doctor said off your feet!” He yelled, then, forcing himself to stand up from the hospital bed and rush after France inside the bathroom, hoping to be able to be at least of support, if nothing else.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	3. Familiar support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: England overthinking. And as consequence of that: freedomcest.

When the next morning the doctor returned to visit France, he was baffled to see England sleeping on the hospital bed firmly enclosed in France's arms. Fathers sneaking into the bed with the mother of their children wasn't unusual, but the way they were holding to one another was more akin to that of a parent protecting his sleeping child. From his experience, nothing good could come out such a predisposition.

“I think you might have a problem.” The doctor offered coldly, then, hoping to wake up the two nations without any further prompt.

“More than just one.” France mumbled in his sleep, as he attempted to keep England close to him even though the island nation was instead wide-awake after the reprimand and was actually attempting to get out the bed.

“We are always the coherent ones, I see.” The doctor could just point out, watching the struggle amused.

“What does it mean that we have a problem? Is there something wrong with them?” England asked worriedly, in the end successfully managing to disentangle from his lover.

“They are fine as long as _he_ keeps quiet.” The doctor answered quietly, nodding towards the other Frenchman –still barely conscious– before staring back coldly at England. “ _You_ are the one who's not fine. He is your husband, not your mother: in a situation like this you two need to give one another support, he can’t be the one to comfort you.”

“I didn’t know that doctors in France worked as couple’s counsellors." England countered, offended and annoyed by the blunt accusation.

“We don’t, unless it might be dangerous to the child or the mother.” The doctor explained curtly, as his eyes moved back to his actual patient.

“Things are fine, no need to worry about it~” France took his chance to point out as he forced himself up to a sitting position in tired resignation. “It was obvious that England would freak out, but I trust him to be fine in no time.”

England turned to stare at his lover, shock completely filling his eyes. Had France just praised him? Did he really mean that he knew he could count on him? England had just betrayed him leaving France's pet project, how could France still trust him so blindly? True, he had also attempted to back up France's ecology program while the rest of Europe was crushing it, but all this trust coming from his husband was still surprising.

“France?”

“What? Did you think I doubted that you would stay at my side?” France answered England, offering him such a beautiful smile that England felt, for the second time in the past couple days, completely love-struck.

Fuck, then that stupid thing he had heard about pregnancy making mothers glow wasn’t as farfetched as he had thought… or maybe it was just England, who was still helplessly in love with the bloody frog after all those years. Someone must have hated him really badly, if all of this was just karma.

“I would never not be, France.” England eventually managed to admit, caressing kindly his lover’s chin. “No matter what my government says.” 

“Then we're fine.” France concluded, fully relaxing on the comfortable pillows as he turned his stare to the doctor as he entwined his fingers with England’s ones. “Anything else we should worry about, except for my husband getting cold feet?”

“I need to know your current energy levels.” The other Frenchman asked plainly, despite still not feeling completely reassured by his nation’s words. “How do you feel?”

“Low, and my head spins slightly.” France admitted, observing with worry the doctor scribbling something on his chart without offering any kind of comment.

“I'll have you get some breakfast along with the supplements you will have to take, and then expect a nurse for the test. I'll come back after noon unless you specifically call for me,” he concluded, before leaving the room once again.

“What a guy.” England countered annoyed, sitting down next to France in order to put his arm around his shoulders and attempt to comfort his husband.

“He must have work to catch up to. Yesterday he was all over us, after all,” France reasoned, despite leaning against England for support as he closed his eyes to save energy. “Besides, he doesn’t really have anything else to say until he can see whether his prescriptions are working or not, something that I fear it isn’t happening.”

“He is only taking it out on me because I'm English, that’s what it is.” England cut short, despite tightening his hold on France.

“That's bullshit. You have delusions of persecution, _Angleterre_ , like with the EU.”

England had to count to ten not to answer harshly back to his lover, who honestly looked nowhere near able to sustain a quarrel. He just tightened his arms around him and kissed him on his temple, hoping that France was wrong about those prescriptions.

“I just want you to be cared for.” England said eventually. “Maybe we should get a second opinion in my country.”

“The hell I'm having Englishmen putting their hands on me!” France bit back, so outraged by such a dumb proposal that he managed to summon enough energy to open an eye to glare up at England.

“I always patch you up after wars and such, and _I'm_ English!” England pointed out, mildly offended by the heartfelt refusal.

“That’s… honestly a good point.” France admitted reluctantly, much to England’s shock. “Still, your NHS is just about to be dismantled –I'm not going to have a child there.” France felt the need to continue, however, before England could even ask himself if France was really up to let go the public health matter. “We have our problems, but here is certainly safer than there. Besides, I don’t understand why I have to risk paying twice or more for the same service just to get worse care.”

“It's. Not. Going. To. Fall.” England protested meaningfully, leaning over his lover to glare at him and thus making finally France to stare up teasingly at him. “And your point of view is prejudiced. France, you really make it difficult not to fight with you.”

France grinned up at him as an answer and rolled them swiftly so that England was under him.

“I speak the truth, _mon cher_ , it's you the one prejudiced that won’t believe the figures.” France managed to offer merrily, before attempting to lower himself enough to kiss England. “You being hot headed is your biggest charm, but it is also your weak point, you know?”

Before their lips could meet, however, France had to close his eyes shut, as his head began spinning worse than before, and an abrupt wave of nausea made him rush again towards the bathroom, grasping tightly whatever he could reach in his way not to fall.

England needed more than just a moment to realise what had happened and then he hurried, after him once again, attempting not to acknowledge that really, things weren’t going any better than they had the day before. If things had gone the usual way, France would have been already trying to get him hard and pliant under him but, until the kid was out, it looked like this wasn’t going to happen.

Together with their breakfast –and England wasn’t really sure why they had also brought something for him– a nurse came as prewarned to take their blood samples for the paternity test. Then, something that France had honestly feared but that hadn’t been announced was the arrival of some staff members, who took their time to connect France to so many machines and IVs that escaping to the bathroom whenever he felt sick –and he was still feeling sick quite often– wouldn’t be an option anymore. England at least had made them bring him a chamber pot and a bucket, so that France could vomit and relieve himself without having to stand up and go to the bathroom, something now physically impossible for him to do.

Even though the new situation made England feel a bit more in control of his husband’s health, it also made France more and more annoyed at the whole situation. Being so dependant on his husband, in fact, somehow exasperated France even more than the impossibility to move freely in itself.

Fighting it wasn’t an option, however, and with England there each and every minute of the day at least managed to grant France the chance to do everything he needed despite the machinery grounding him.

When the doctor came back to check on France at noon of the next day he found that, much to his disappointment, France was eating his soup quietly and without much enthusiasm while sitting on the bed while England was yelling at his own Prime Minister on the phone on the opposite side of the room.

“You wanted to get Brexit done, so do that by yourself! Put your name on the disintegration of my Kingdom and don’t bother me!” England shouted, just before shutting down the call without leaving his Prime Minister even the slightest chance to reply.

“May I remind you that this is a fucking hospital?” The doctor pointed out annoyed, glaring England into submission.

“You are right, I'm really sorry.” England admitted, before turning to France. “I'm also sorry to have bothered you, France. You already had to stand Macron’s proposal of reforms this morning and now you had to endure me dealing with Scotland’s independence...”

“Something that everyone knew would happen, in particular with a hard Brexit like your PM is pretending it will be: if he had no back up plan prepared for his anger and our refusal to give in, he really is an idiot, just as you keep calling him.” France just told him plainly, before sighing resigned. “You should go back to your work, England. I’m the one bedridden, not you.”

“I don’t want to leave your side.” England protested, however, sitting at France’s side to offer him a gentle smile and a caring caress on his cheek. “I can catch up on my work later. I won’t bring it to this room again, I promise.”

“You might be willing to go back to your work even before the end of the day, though,” the doctor felt the need to point out. “The results of the paternity test will arrive in the evening.”

“I'm not leaving France alone–”

“Don't start on this you two. I don’t like the fact that I can’t join the quarrel.” France interrupted them with the smallest bit of anger he had been able to summon, before he just stopped eating to glare suspiciously at the spoon he had just filled. After some due consideration, he put it back down and stared up resigned at England.

“Can you finish it up?” He pleaded. “I don’t want it.”

“Aren't pregnant people supposed to eat for two? You ate nothing even at breakfast.” England commented as he filled a spoon of soup to taste it. “France, the soup is fine.” He concluded, staring back reproachfully at his husband.

“I don’t want to hear it from you.” France countered, sounding almost cheerful at the chance he had to banter a little with his lover, despite the sadness and annoyance still showing in his eyes. “Besides, I'm fine. I'm just not hungry.”

“Are you still feeling low?” The doctor took his chance to ask, unnerving France even more with his continuous writing things on his bloody chart without a word of explanation.

“I'm stuck inside a hospital room, bedridden, eating some second rate soup and you are asking _me_ _how I feel!_?” He protested with fury. “I feel trapped! I'm not sick!”

“I can’t let you go home until I get the doses right, it might be dangerous.” It was all the doctor granted to France as an answer, only to receive an eye roll from his own nation.

“France, c'mon, just be reasonable–” England attempted to calm him down, moving the plate of soup to the bedside table and taking France’s hands in his in a vain attempt to vouch for the medic despite having otherwise different opinions on almost everything else.

France was just about to yell at both the doctor and England to screw themselves for all he cared, when a cautious knock came from the door. Slowly the door opened up to show a young nurse that shyly asked if it was all right to allow someone in. Before she could get a response, however, behind her legs appeared no other than Sealand.

“Mama!!” The child nation called out happily, escaping the nurse custody to run straight towards France.

“Sealand!!” Both parents could only notice, France sounding completely overjoyed by his arrival and England utterly shocked.

Before England could even think about stopping his drive, Sealand had successfully dodged him to jump on the hospital bed and in his French father’s ready arms, hopefully careful enough not to damage anything attached to France.

“Sealand! I didn’t tell you you could come!” England reprimanded him irately, glaring at his youngest son who was currently being cuddled to death by his other father.

“My cute little island of freedom~” France mumbled against Sealand’s cheek as he covered him in kisses, much to his son’s joy.

Feeling dejected and ignored, England could only sigh resignedly at the sight. As he turned to stare at the doctor to ask him forgiveness for the intrusion, however, he could only notice the Frenchman’s shocked stare on the couple of nations hugging on the hospital bed beside him.

“Doctor?”

“You _really_ have other children, then.” He managed to say eventually, still unable to look away from the scene.

“Doctor, France told you at the very beginning that we have four.” England explained, sounding slightly confused by the doctor’s shock. “One is adopted, but the other three are genuinely our own blood.”

“Well, he was barely conscious at the time…” The doctor pointed out unsurely.

“You will know with time that France is more up to tell the truth when he’s out of it than when he is fully conscious of what he is doing and saying,” England stated wisely, eliciting a small chuckle from the doctor.

“I heard you, you know _Angleterre_?” France took his chance to protest, then, glaring back at his husband while still molesting Sealand.

“Well, it’s the truth,” England answered France plainly, attempting to take Sealand away from France’s hold and let him sit on his legs to allow France the chance to fix the cables and tubes connecting him to the machinery. “So, why did you come here, then?” He added addressing Sealand.

“You said mum was having a child: we wanted to be part of it!” Sealand explained enthusiastically, his eyes looking more and more like shining stars. “We want the details! We want to know everything about it!”

“What do you mean, _we_?” England questioned his son, unsettled by the possible meaning of that _we_. “I only told _you_ that we were at the hospital and just because we were supposed to come at your place after the meeting, but we couldn’t make it.”

“Well, yeah, the others were quite angry at you for not telling them.” Sealand pointed out, nodding gravely to his English father.

“Wait, you mean–” England had no chance to finish his question that the door to the room burst open once again, allowing inside a frantic America, Canada and Seychelles.

“Muuum!!” All the three of them cried out in desperation as they rushed towards their French father.

“Good Lord…” England could only mutter as he shook his head in resignation seeing his kids huddling around France. “So much for not causing him stress…”

Considering that Sealand had also begun getting restless in his arms to fight with his siblings for France’s attentions, England eventually let him go and left his place on France’s bed, so that it would be a little less crowded.

“I don’t think it is a bad situation.” The doctor commented as soon as England had approached him, showing a real kind smile on his face for the first time since they had met him. “I guess this might be what he wanted and needed.”

“What France wanted and needed?” England repeated flabbergasted. He stared once again back to his family, then, and he noticed France offering his children a smile he had not seen since the French nation had attempted to make him remember that the bright sight of the current situation was their child.

“How is my sweetest country of freedom?” France was telling America as he moved off the way his fringe to kiss him on the forehead. The affectionate gesture was a bit hindered by Canada’s firm hold on his shoulder and Seychelles draping her arms around his neck, all of that while Sealand was moving between France’s legs to hug close his waist.

“I feel great, because I’m a great older brother!” America answered him in a happy purr, enjoying his French father’s attentions. “When will we know if we are having a little brother or a little sister?”

“It must be a little sister, America!!” Seychelles took her chance to butt in the conversation, sounding visibly annoyed at the prospect of having it any other way. “I’m the only girl, it’s not really fair!”

“Still, knowing our dads I bet that we are going to have another brother~” Canada giggled quietly at her side, making Seychelles even more exasperated than she already was as she shoved him away.

“Why even you!!” She countered, moving to glare at Canada better only to leave enough space for Sealand to get the upper hand and steal her place to drape his arms around France’s neck.

“I don’t care, because I’ll still be the favourite!” The child nation countered, earning all his siblings’ disappointed pout.

“No way, I am the favourite!” America yelled back at him, attempting to get his brother’s place but being obviously unable to do it since Sealand alone was small enough to straddle easily France’s legs despite the machinery around him, effectively cutting all his siblings out of the way unless they were willing to risk damaging the hospital property.

“Be quiet, kids, each of you are the favourite here!” France interrupted the quarrel before it could get out of his hands, earning wailings from all his children as he distributed plenty of caresses and kisses to quieten them down.

The doctor left the room soon after, sporting such a happy and adoring expression that made him honestly seem a completely different person, and thus leaving England feeling like the only outsider of the happy family reunion.

The Frenchman showed up again only in the evening, when it was time to tell to the younger nations that visit time was over. Much to England’s shock, when Sealand complained that he didn’t want to leave his French father’s side, the doctor even dared to offer himself to treat the child nation to a hot chocolate, like he was the nicest of the people ever lived on France’s lands.

By then, however, England was already feeling the most useless husband ever born in his own lands. The happy smile that France kept sporting even when the hospital personnel brought them dinner was the greatest proof of England’s failure, a failure he felt even more his own when he noticed that the only one attempting any kind of small talk while eating was France, the one England was supposed to cheer up during his confinement at the hospital.

With his failure in mind, then, when they got ready to bed he could only drape himself even closer to his husband, praying that the night would give him good ideas to be able to put on France’s lips a beautiful smile like their children had been able to do that day.

* * *

In the depth of the night, England found himself opening his eyes at the sound of heavy breathing coming from the bed in front of his own. The feeling of displacement at the realization –hadn’t he and France fallen asleep cuddled together?– left soon place to shock, as he saw in front of himself France and America kissing hotly one another.

“What the-” England attempted to say, only to find himself completely mute and unable to move, as his gaze automatically followed America’s hand disappearing inside the very short pants of his husband’s pyjama to tease his cock. The subtle movement made France moan so loudly that England was certain they must have heard him even outside the hospital room.

“Don’t worry, mom, I’ll be the one to give you what you need.” England heard America whisper into France’s ear, before he bit down on his earlobe as he made the French nation sit on his thighs, facing towards England. This way, he could freely tease France’s nipple with the hand that wasn’t already busy teasing his cock and at the same time give England a full show of his molested husband. “Do you want my cock thrusting hard inside you, mom?”

“Yes, love~” He heard France answering softly, his voice dripping desire as if it was made of honey. “Give it to me, give me what your father can’t~”

The pleasure evoked by hearing France’s moan and his lustful expression went straight to harden England’s cock, despite the deep feeling he still had that something was not right with the picture –aside for the obvious. His own excitement only grew more intense, however, when he saw America freeing swiftly France of his last garment of clothing and turning him once again towards him, so that France could straddle him and easily impale himself of his hard shaft.

“It’s so big, America~” England heard France whine at the penetration, before he began moving on him a few times, making the younger nation –as well as England - groan at the picture such a dishevelled France made.

It didn’t last much, however, because soon America decided he had enough of the teasing and decided to take the lead of their encounter, making France rest on his back under him and thrusting into him in earnest, eliciting soft moans and cries from a completely enraptured France.

“Harder~ More~” France kept pleading, his soft curls by then already damp with sweat and plastered messily all over his handsome face.

What England was seeing made no sense, yet it only made him harder… why was he getting hot and bothered by seeing his husband getting fucked by their son? It made no sense. Nothing made sense anymore, but France’s lost expression was too enticing to look away from it, even though he had honestly seen it thousands of times during their too long life.

France loved to kiss during sex and so did England, though, so why weren’t they kissing was the only thing that ended up occupying his mind, as he attempted to lean over the image he was seeing to kiss France’s barely opened lips… and instead found himself holding a deeply asleep France close, still fully dressed in his 18th century long nightshirt.

“Fuck,” England muttered, shaking his head to reacquaint himself with reality after the quite vivid dream, only to notice how hard he still was from the whole ordeal. “I’m the worst parent ever.”

“ _Angleterre_?” France mumbled sleepily, awakened abruptly by England’s movements and words. “Why would you be?”

As he rolled as much as he could without snapping anything out of place over his husband to hold him tighter, however, he felt England’s hardness pressing against his tight. As soon as the knowledge of his husband’s situation connected with the words that he had just heard England mutter, however France found himself fully awake and his expression turned stone cold as he disentangled from his husband.

“France, wait–”

“Go back home, England. I don’t want to see you.” France ordered him, glaring at his lover as he moved further away from him, only becoming even angrier as he noticed his guilty expression.

“Wait, if you need to be angry at me, at least be angry for the right reason.” England pleaded, feeling his heart breaking at France’s harsh reaction. “It’s not what you think–”

“I don’t care if you decided to dream about America screwing you just because I can’t anymore or if you found out that Canada and Seychelles are more screwable than me!” France growled instead, attempting to show England off the bed since he couldn’t physically move further back barded like he was. “ _Je te deteste_!”

“I wasn’t dreaming about _me_ having sex with our children!” England hissed back at France annoyed, closing his eyes shut not to see France’s angry and betrayed glare on him. “But about _you_ preferring America instead of me!”

“Why would I?” France asked honestly surprised, his anger somehow slowly deflating as he saw England blushing scarlet at the question.

“I- I think my mind worked on what the doctor said today about the kids giving you what you needed…” England admitted guiltily.

“So you think that what I need is getting screwed by my son?” France questioned his husband, rising a dubious eyebrow at him. “And you call _me_ the perverted one.”

“Why wouldn’t you, though?” England muttered quietly, still not daring to look up in France's eyes. “He is an actual top, instead even when I top you, you are usually the one leading the game… he is also stronger than me politically and, well, he is better endowed.”

“ _Angleterre_ , you _are_ a dick!” France spit back. “Do you believe I’m so petty to prefer a big dick to the lover I’ve known and loved for almost two millennia? When the hell have I ever told you that I was unsatisfied with our sex life?? And more important than that: he is my _son_!”

“Well, hasn’t one in ten French been involved in incestuous activities?” England answered before he could censor himself. “You even proposed to him once.”

“That was a joke! And… wait, what source was that?” France countered, a bit confused by the first bit of information.

“Still unpublished, but you know…” England answered vaguely, shrugging guiltily.

“Let’s pretend that you are not using your spies to get useless reports on me like always,” France reasoned. “What makes _you_ think that _I_ would behave any different with any other partner? I don’t usually top you just because of the size of your cock, you know. I like it!”

“But the kids make you smile and I can’t anymore!” England admitted. “You are sad and angry when we are together… Instead in a few hours they managed to cheer you up better than I did in three days.”

Hearing his lover’s last answer, France just sighed and cupped England’s face with his hands to rise it enough to kiss him hardly on his lips.

“Only _you_ can be so _stupid_ to be jealous of _your own_ children.” France told him as soon as they parted and they could stare in one another’s eyes. “If you want me to be happy, what about showing some enthusiasm about this new child we are going to have? Until now, all you’ve done is fretting: _that_ annoys me, not the prospect of being relegated to be your bottom for the next few months! I would care about it only if you said that _you_ were the one not wanting me _like that_!!”

France’s words –and kiss– managed to send England’s mind reeling in confusion. He adored the idea of having another child with France… wasn’t it obvious? Well, it was not as if Englishmen were famous to show their emotions to the world, but he was certain to have at least told France he was happy about the child… hadn’t he?

Hell, no wonder that the doctor always glared at him believing that he was waiting for the results of the parental test to bail out. And he hadn’t even showed France that he still wanted him whatever way he could have him… His husband was right, he had just fretted the whole time. Fuck it.

England took his lover’s chin in his hands, then, and kissed him with the same passion France had kissed him before, asking him the permission to deepen it soon after. France allowed the kiss and attempted to answer him as much as he could, despite the care he had to put not to snap anything to which he was connected. With quite a lot of care not to hurt his lover, then, England made France rest on his back as he moved slightly over him to keep kissing France first on his cheek and then lower on his neck and shoulders, despite the machineries that surrounded them with steel-cold disappointment.

Since he couldn’t get his lover naked, England put his hands on the hems of France’s nightshirt to lift it high enough that he could keep kissing him even below the collarbone and molest his nipples. When he reached France’s still flat belly, however, he stopped his trail of kisses to look up at France adoringly.

“I really want you and this child, France, I’m sorry if I’m an idiot in showing it.” He confessed, as he kept caressing kindly the hard skin there.

“ _Angleterre_ ~” France moaned in answer, before England decided that it was time to move onward and dismounted the small hospital bed completely, in order to retrieve some gel from his lover’s belongings. How France’s sovereigns hadn’t noticed it while they were filling his trolley it was anyone’s guess.

He walked then once again between his lover’s legs and put some gel on his fingers to start preparing France properly. Not having ever been one for preliminaries but realising that France needed more to heat up, England eventually decided that he could put his mouth to better work, engulfing France’s dick in a single drive. The movement earned him soon France groaning aloud, and he closed his eyes in pleasure as his hands grasped tightly England’s hair and the pillow under his head for lack of other things he could do in his situation.

It wasn’t that England was a dead lay, far from it, but keeping France in control during their lovemaking was something that for him was quite hard to do, no matter who took the initiative or who would top in the end. That was why having France bound to stillness was a first he wasn’t really sure how to deal with.

Still, tongue-work was his speciality as much as it was France’s, so he did his best to put in action the best of his tricks in order to get France right into the mood. He was therefore glad to notice that he hadn’t lost his touch when after a while of working on loosing France and molesting his cock his husband plainly asked him to move onwards before he ended up coming in his mouth.

Mindful of the doctor’s orders, then, England dragged France a bit lower on the bed and anchored his hips to the mattress to prevent France from accidentally trusting up to meet his movements like he was used to.

As soon as he was certain that everything was alright, England put on a condom, dragged France towards him until his butt was slightly out the mattress, and took a firm hold of his legs to keep them wide open. Only then, did he finally enter his husband as slowly and as carefully as he could, doing his best to not put too much strain on his loins but fairly satisfied by France’s weak cry of pleasure telling him that he wasn’t as bad as he thought in pleasuring his lover.

France’s satisfied expression demanded a kiss, but he had to admit that bending over him it was probably unwise, since the doctor had forbidden any unnatural movement of France’s hips.

“I’m so sorry that I can’t kiss you properly, honey…” England forced himself to say to his husband, as he finally began moving inside him, earning soon France’s soft moans in answer.

“I love it when you call me honey~” France managed to say, apparently too glad that England had eventually found enough courage to love him to be bothered about the details. Understanding however that England was about to have way less options in their lovemaking, he took it upon himself to take care of his own neglected cock in time with England’s thrusts. “It’s a novelty to hear you using it seriously~”

England chuckled at France’s teasing and sped up his movements, soon successfully hitting his husband’s prostate with each and every thrust, finally seeing in reality the image of his husband lost in pure pleasure he had dreamt about only some minutes before. It was much more beautiful than the one of his dream, truth to be told, and certainly more linked to their current situation, since he had to be mindful of all the machinery attached to him –something that had instead conveniently disappeared in his dream– and of everything that made France himself.

No matter how passionate and caring France was, he was also a proud and demanding lover, that had honestly not much in common with the completely dependent on pleasure picture his own mind had produced. It never was pleasure that dragged France away from himself, it was always France who willingly allowed himself to be swept away by England’s own passion. Would France ever dare to be seen so defenceless by someone else while he hardly ever begged England for anything that wasn’t to stay at his side?

With love being the core of France’s country –aside for freedom, equality and other socialist ideals– love was also the one feeling France kept hidden the most, under his thick layer of pride and arrogance. It wasn’t such a different approach than England’s own, to be honest, and that was probably why they had ended up trusting their feelings only to the one who was, in fact, their natural opposite and enemy.

A natural enemy like England had always considered himself one for France, being England at the same time utterly scared to take his chance on the world and desperately clinging to those sure rules that protected him. This was something that deeply clashed with his compulsion to show everyone what he could do and how deadly he could be even at a far range, in a weird mix of impulses that made him frequently lose faith in what he could actually achieve until he just overdid it and sent himself to ruins.

He was nothing like the extrovert nation his France was. France was so full of energy and passion, so desperately willing to get free to reach the impossible despite being trapped by rules and regulations. That he had always loved about France, whether they were talking about politics or sex. That restrained passion striving for freedom made France eternally handsome in his eyes, and -mixing with England’s desperate need for restrictions to contain and protect himself- made them finally complete. It made France completely his, as much as England was France’s.

“I should have you like this more often ~” England moaned eventually, so enraptured by his lover that he had to attempt putting his brain seriously at work not to lose completely control of what he was doing. “You are… too much… France~”

“A~ _Angleterre_!” France could only call out in a broken answer, loving England’s proposal of having him more often, the pace, the attention he was receiving, his pleading voice and everything England had to offer him all together. Everything he adored, as long as it came from his husband.

It didn’t take much for France to come, spurting hot sperm all over his pale skin, with England following soon after inside the condom. As soon as they were spent, England forced himself to keep his firm hold of France’s legs as he got out him, before helping his husband fully back up on the bed to rest properly on the mattress.

He then got rid of the condom but, before he went to get something from the bathroom to clean France’s stomach, England finally took his chance to kiss him deeply on his lips, much to France’s definitive satisfaction.

“We should really have a proper talk about positions. Kissing you really is the best part of all this~” England teased shyly, only to receive France’s wide grin for it.

“Who needs a fat dick when I have the cutest and hottest husband of all?” France teased back, only to drag England back down towards him to kiss him hungrily once again, eliciting soft moans from the both of them. “I love you, _Angleterre_ ~”

“Me too, but I have to make you once again decent before tomorrow, or _your_ doctor will certainly evirate me. You can’t have a shower all barded up like you are.” England countered, standing fully back on his feet to disappear in the adjoined bathroom.

“He will understand what we have done seeing the readings, I fear.” France pointed out, as his gaze moved lazily to the machinery at his side and he noticed that on one of the screens an otherwise straight line had recently skyrocketed, probably in answer to his orgasm. “I don’t even know what this is for, now that I think about it. It’s too constantly flat to be either brain or heart activity.”

“I wouldn’t cross out brain activity.” England countered as he re-emerged from the bathroom with some wet towels to clean up France’s chest from semen and sweat. “It would not surprise me that you think at your best only when you are having sex.”

“High praises from the man who got turned on dreaming of his son fucking his husband.” France countered, offended by England’s blunt teasing. “And speaking of incest: _we_ ’re cousins.”

“Don’t remind me…” England pleaded, still feeling deeply guilty for what he had dreamt. “This tells me that having a satisfying sex life is a necessity for me too.”

“This tells you that instead of dreaming of others doing me you should just fuck me since I’m currently hindered and it’s hard for me taking the initiative.” France pointed out haughtily. “I will never be the one to complain and I tell you once again: I won’t break.”

“You will not break in a few weeks, but as for now you are still under observation.” England countered seriously, as he finished cleaning the last traces of sperm on France’s chest and proceeded to pull down his nightshirt in a more decent manner. “I know that you want to pretend that everything is fine, but I can’t keep just doing what we want while you are still in hospital with no definite prognosis. I have the right to be worried! The kids don’t know about the miscarriage, that’s why they can be so cheerful to easily see only the bright side of this!”

“You are right, _mon amour_ , that’s why I never complained.” France admitted, welcoming England back into his arms as soon as he came back from the bathroom after he had gotten rid of the wet towels. “But I have my body to remind me of this, I don’t need also my husband to do the same.”

“What about meeting halfway?” England proposed, as he cuddled once again close to France. “You tell me off whenever I annoy you, and I try not to fear for your life every second of my day.”

“Do you really fear for my life every second of your day?” France asked unsurely, staring down surprised at his husband’s blond disarray of hair.

“Yeah. You really got me scared the other day, and today I felt like I was an outsider in our family.” England admitted quietly, hiding his face against France’s chest even more. “Trust me to end up being jealous of our own blood because I worry too much.”

“C’mon, _mon cher_ , cheer up! Maybe thanks to the high spike they will send me back home before time~”

“Somehow, I highly doubt it.” England felt the need to point out, despite hoping that the day after would actually bring better news.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	4. Re-start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: no English politician was tortured during the writing of this chapter. Well, at least not in reality.

When the doctor returned the next morning and started to take note of the readings recorded by the machineries surrounding France, he only rose a surprised eyebrow at the lone spike the French nation had noticed the night before.

“Well, it looks like you remembered how to be a couple: that’s an improvement,” he offered unexpectedly, waking up the two husbands, who were still fast asleep.

“What?” France and England asked at the same time, as they scrambled to disentangle from one another without tugging anything out of place.

“I highly doubt that Mr. Bonnefoy’s body decided to produce progesterone on its own,” The doctor explained, without even looking up from his chart. “It’s more like you were enjoying one another’s company.”

Despite his explanation, France and England just kept staring back at the doctor without understanding what the hell progesterone had to do with sex.

“The male body secretes a small amount of progesterone to produce semen.” The doctor then felt the need to add to his explanation, surprising both nations.

“Can this be the reason why France was fine during the first weeks of the pregnancy? Because we were going at it every night?” England asked plainly, only to be slapped on the back of his head by France.

“Were you really?” The doctor asked in a monotone as he kept scribbling, untroubled by the news.

“I was already feeling ill before they got me here with the ambulance.” France felt the need to clarify. “But it’s not like we did it every day and all of sudden we stopped, it just happened that I said I wasn’t up to it a couple of times the week prior the Brexit deadline.”

“Something that should have worried me before you fainted.” England took his chance to point out. “I thought that you saying no for the first time in 800 years was just retaliation because of the Brexit.”

“ _Va te faire voir, Angleterre!_ _Je-_ ”

“I highly doubt that the amount of progesterone produced during sex is enough to sustain a pregnancy, even if it’s in the first weeks.” The doctor interrupted the quarrel professionally, before he finished checking on all the instrumentation, apparently, only to change prescriptions of everything France was currently taking. “I can’t deny, however, that a healthy sex life might help the morale of the mother.”

“So you are not angry?” France inquired, staring back dubiously at the other Frenchman.

“Of course not, I’m relieved actually.” The doctor answered as he finished his scribbling to get some papers from behind his chart and handed them to England. “It shows that the couple works _before_ knowing the important news.”

“What news?” England asked, before checking the papers the doctor had handed him together with France, who curiously peeked at them behind his shoulders.

“The paternity test.” The French nation realised, while England’s hands started to tremble in sheer panic even before getting to the last page showing the results.

“We’re the fathers.” England voiced aloud, feeling both elated and desperate at the same time now that he had the answer they had been waiting for.

Noticing his lover’s reaction, France hold him close from behind and left a kind kiss on his neck.

“You are the first father shocked seeing that the child his spouse carries is actually his.” France pointed out to England, attempting to sound as unworried as he could despite the obvious implications of the revelation.

“I’m not shocked, I just feel… guilty.” England admitted, leaning backwards so that his head rested against France’s shoulder. “This really is because of the Brexit.”

“Is it?” France asked the doctor however, and soon England’s eyes were up to him expectantly as well.

“We did a proper analysis of the pictures we took of the embryo, since you weren’t sure about the day of the conception and we can’t count weeks like with a pregnant woman: December 12th is a reasonable date.”

“This answers the question.” England concluded, earning France’s sigh for it.

“As we agreed on tonight: _I_ want this child and since _you_ want it as much as I do, stop feeling fucking guilty!” France complained, before England could panic openly and fret over the news.

After the reprimand, England could just groan at France’s statement and roll his eyes at him in silent acknowledgement, under the surprised yet satisfied stare of the doctor.

“Whoa, you even managed to talk about your problems…” he noted gladly, “your children visiting really made miracles happen.”

Hearing the doctor mentioning their children, unsurprisingly made both parents swallow deeply and look elsewhere.

“Let’s not mention them for a while...” France pleaded, whilst England just turned in France’s arms to start sobbing in his caring embrace.

“I’m the worst kind of parent who ever lived on the whole surface of the Earth!!” He cried out, his words muffled by the fabric of France’s nightshirt.

“Now, now.” France reassured him, putting up for show his deepest and kindest tone of voice. “We already knew that, didn’t we?”

France’s gentle tone together with the undisputable truth of his words just made England cry more, therefore France just held his lover more tightly, parading a completely happy and satisfied grin that clearly stated how much he believed his husband to be too cute showing himself so bothered by the events of the night before.

The doctor, on his end, decided that he really didn’t want to know what had happened and just left the two husbands alone in order to update the nurses on what changes were to be made to France’s prescriptions.

* * *

It was only one week and a half later that the doctor reached some conclusions about France’s prescriptions and decided that it was safe to discharge him, much to the relief of the whole family and all the governments involved.

Truth was, during the whole time of France’s hospitalization England had refused to answer his sovereigns’ calls, and the rest of the family had harshly delayed every request their own had sent them as well. The lack of cooperation coming from their nations was nothing new for France, Sealand and America’s governments, but easily sent England, Canada and Seychelles’ into panic.

Therefore, as soon as the whole family was reassured that the doctor had gotten a hold on the situation, all the younger nations bought tickets to go back to their countries, ready to depart in a couple of days. The day of the discharge, however, all six were present, fretting together as they waited for the doctor’s orders.

“So,” the doctor started, eyeing reproachfully France, who was sitting on the hospital bed ready to go with Sealand in his arms, and then glaring to the rest of the family surrounding him as well, “I’ve written prescriptions for all the needed supplements and prepared a chart that will explain how and when to take them. The progesterone pills will not be enough, though.”

Along with the papers with the prescriptions and the diet, then, the doctor handed England a small tube of cream.

“I want _you_ to massage his belly with this cream every night, so we won’t risk an overdose if I were to increase the amount he has to ingest daily.” The doctor ordered England. “It will also give you two a chance to feel like you are both involved in taking care of your unborn child.”

“Progesterone cream?” England read aloud what was written on the tube.

“Using cream instead of pills, the absorption will be localised only where he needs it, lessening the possible side effects.” The doctor explained, before turning to glare at France. “You will still have to take a dose with the other supplements, though, so don’t assume that there won’t be any.”

“Side effects? Such as?” France asked, looking slightly worried as he tightened his arms around his youngest son for comfort.

“More sperm when you ejaculate, tenderer chest and even milk later on-” The doctor started enumerating before his nation cut him off abruptly.

“So it won’t turn me into a woman but I might start lactating!?” France realised, quite shocked by the news even though _he_ had been the one worrying whether he was going to have milk or not at the very beginning.

“We are not giving you anything that will stop you from being a man, hormonally-wise.” The doctor clarified. “We are just giving you the additional hormones your body is currently asking for… strangely enough.”

“Mum’s body is asking for those?” Seychelles asked suspiciously. “But if his body managed to conceive a child even though it wasn’t supposed to do it, why is it not producing what is needed on its own? I mean, why doing things halfway?”

“Because countries react spontaneously to some political choices, but they are not always able to sustain the consequences.” England explained to Seychelles the best way he could, allowing her to find comfort in his arms since she seemed quite worried about the lingering dangers of the situation. “ _I_ chose to Brexit, and _my_ choice affected _France_. Since this decision didn’t come from him, nothing says that _his_ body should adapt to it on its own.”

“That’s why you needed to know the parental test result.” Canada realised, only to receive a short nod from his English father. “You needed to understand the chances mum had to get back on his feet by himself.”

“Considering this was caused by Brexit, he has none.” England could only conclude, staring sadly back to his lover.

“But mom will be fine, eventually, won’t he?” America asked, sounding worried as he looked up at the doctor with hope and he literally draped himself around France.

“I will see him at least twice a month to regulate the supplements and check on how it’s going.” The doctor reassured them. “If everything keeps going well, however, I trust that we can all survive easily the following months and the delivery.”

“Are you happy, America?” France offered to the worried nation then, turning towards his son to ruffle kindly his hair.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see our new sibling!” America answered him, embracing France even tighter as he hid his face in the crook of his neck before another doubt hit him and his eyes shot up to meet his French father's ones. “Wait, will they grow up as a nation or as a human after they are born?”

“One problem at the time, America.” England reprimanded him with a disheartened sigh, despite cuddling Seychelles even closer to him, feeling her shaken by the prospect that something could go wrong even after the delivery. “We have more than enough as it is.”

“Mr. Kirkland is right, the most important thing now is that the foetus is properly growing in a safe environment where he can get anything it needs.” The doctor confirmed. “As for all of you, I beg you not to be overly stressful around Mr. Bonnefoy and to call me as soon as something strange occurs.”

“Strange as in?” Canada asked, rising an enquiring eyebrow at the doctor while tightening his grasp on his English father’s shoulder. “Mum being pregnant is a quite strange occurrence in itself.”

“Well, he should expect just mood swings and morning sickness at the point we are now, probably food cravings as well, even though it’s a bit early. This in addition to some annoyance brought by the progesterone, of course, but nothing too noticeable.”

“Food cravings I can’t give in, however.” France complained, pouting at the other Frenchman in challenge.

“You have a choice: give in and risk vomiting your life out or attempt following the diet.” The doctor quipped in answer, annoyed at his own nation.

“I followed your frigging diet here at the hospital and yet I kept being sick just like when I ate what I wanted at home!”

“Of course you did. Now imagine it being much worse.”

France growled at the doctor, but eventually decided to keep quiet, mostly because with a son in his arms and the other hugging him from behind he wasn’t certainly about to look intimidating.

“If nothing else occurs in the meantime, I’ll see you by the end of February.” The obstetrician concluded, since the question time seemed over. “You’re dismissed.”

The entire family left the room together, then, directed towards the parking lot to retrieve France’s spare car. Despite being too many to fit inside a single car, since the trip was short and they weren’t sure about what worked that day, they did their best to fit all inside the car and then drove to the train station. From there, they could finally get the train back to Paris and plan together how they would retrieve the other car.

After a throughout check of the traffic conditions in Paris on their smartphones, Canada and Seychelles decided that the rest of the family could get lost in the traffic jam riding the car without them since, all things considered, they would certainly get back to France’s apartment before the others simply walking there from the train station. Their evaluation, predictably, turned out to be true.

Strangely enough, when France and England got back to the apartment, they happily noticed that the place had survived their absence and that the lonely cohabitations of the four siblings hadn’t devastated it as much as their parents had feared. The absurd misconception that being back at home meant that everything would be magically back to normal, however, was soon crushed as a sudden wave of nausea made France quickly shut himself inside the bathroom.

England could only stare resigned at his husband’s quick retreat and take upon himself to bring inside the room France’s luggage along with his own.

“Kids, do me a favour: have Sealand sleep with you tonight. We can’t really have him with us with France like this.” He asked as he began opening the two bags, hoping that someone would be kind enough to offer themselves up to the task without him having to plead.

“Sealand can sleep with me, dad, but…” Canada volunteered, sounding however quite unsure as he mulled over what he wanted to say, “you know, mum should really take this chance to solve the accommodations problem.”

England stopped rummaging inside their luggage and went back to the living room to answer his son without bothering France, who was still feeling sick in the adjoined bathroom.

“You are right,” he told Canada, despite looking quite doubtful about his son’s proposition. He took his chance to smile down at Sealand, though, since the younger island nation had eventually reached him to grab his waist in search of reassurances, feeling quite in the middle of the commotion. “But I don’t really think that confronting France with the possibility of moving will be a healthy decision for any of us at the moment.”

“It will never be, dad,” America countered, crossing his arms on his chest in defiance of his English father’s point. “Mom is unwilling to take moving into consideration and this even without being pregnant. A good time for the discussion will never come, if we wait for him to not put up a fight.”

“And if he doesn’t want to move, I don’t see where the real problem is, anyway. We could just give up our rooms to Sealand and the new-born.” Seychelles butted in, attempting to offer a reasonable second option. “We are not living here on daily basis, when we come visiting we could just get a room in a hotel.”

“You’d better hope that your mother didn’t hear you Seychelles, or you will end up starving to death tonight.” England answered his daughter, much to her surprise. “France will never let you guys move out and you _will_ betray his trust if you do that without consulting him.”

Right on cue, they heard the water being flushed inside the bathroom and a visibly pale France exited the bedroom in search of his family.

“What’s the family reunion about?” He asked suspiciously, noticing all of them still gloomily standing in the living room and looking visibly guilty.

“Moving, mum.” Canada barely whispered, looking at his sides to his brother and sister in search of support.

“All the family to a bigger flat or just we three out of here.” Seychelles took after her brother with much more determination, earning France’s shocked stare on her. “Which one it will be is really your choice to make, mum.”

“Why would you three give up the rooms that you have here?” France asked his daughter, not really understanding the reason behind such a proposal.

“Because you will soon need room for the new baby and we already don’t have a room for Sealand.” America offered, so that it was obvious that they all shared the same opinion on the matter. “We don’t really need a room here, if you don’t have the space for the youngest.”

Much to his children’s shock and England’s resignation, the only answer France granted to his family was walking back inside the bedroom and slamming the door shut close as loudly as he could behind himself.

“France, get out of there!” England yelled as he rushed towards the door and attempted to open it without any success. “C’mon, honey, let’s talk about this like reasonable adults. The kids didn’t mean anything bad by asking!”

No answer came from inside the room, even though England was certain that he could hear France’s quiet sniffling beyond the closed door. Somehow, the meaning of mood swings had now become quite clear to him, even though at the beginning he had thought that he was already used to those, considering they’d been talking about France.

Still, France had never ended up crying when confronted with something he didn’t like. He yelled, he swore, he resorted to being mean and– Hell, now that England allowed himself to think properly about it, even if France got angry the way he usually did, it wouldn’t be wise to just yell back at him.

Oh Lord, how was he even supposed to survive France’s tantrums like this? The option that they could just stop quarrelling while France was pregnant wasn’t doable, since the both of them physically lived only to disagree with one another… why couldn’t their relationship be a tiny bit less dysfunctional?

“C’mon, mum! We don’t _want_ to leave your house, we just want to _talk_ about the living arrangements here in Paris!” Canada called quietly as soon as he had reached his English father’s side, not getting any answer no differently than England had.

Seeing that there was no way that France would come out his room any time soon without prompt, Seychelles then went to the table where England had left the papers the doctor had prepared for France, in order to get an idea about what the French nation was allowed to eat. After a throughout reading of the diet, she just disappeared inside the kitchen soon followed by Canada, who had quickly understood and approved his sister’s plan.

Unwilling to test their luck in front of pots and saucepans, America and England just relegated themselves to set the table, while Sealand attempted to help Canada and Seychelles the best he could by bringing them what they needed from a room to the other.

True to Seychelles’ prediction, as soon as the delicious smell of grilled meat and vegetables filled the apartment, the door to France and England’s bedroom opened. France re-emerged from there with puffy red eyes and showing a complexion so pale that he could have rivalled with Russia.

“Seychelles and Canada made lunch; do you want to eat something?” England offered to his husband kindly, not really sure about how France would react to the proposition. Considering his appearance, England had decided to attempt playing the part of the best husband in the world, leaving the problem _how to quarrel without complications_ for later on.

“I’m famished.” France admitted grudgingly, looking like he had gotten out of their bedroom only for the sake of the unborn child, who deserved to be fed despite his personal annoyance.

“C’mon, let’s eat, then. We’ll solve the accommodations problem later on.” England told him, taking France’s hand in his to lead him to the dining table on which Seychelles and Canada were already bringing the food.

Despite some short-lived smiles to reassure France that everything was all right, they all ate in silence the whole time, partially because they feared to unnerve France once again and partially because none of them had quite anticipated the actual meaning of a famished France. The amount he was eating still paled in front of America's drive, but his appetite was now a fair match to his son’s.

“Do you want something else, mum?” Seychelles asked eventually. “Maybe something sweet or some cheese?”

“I think I already ate too much.” France reasoned, noticing only then how much he had actually eaten and feeling quite ashamed by it for no reason at all.

“Well, the diet says to eat frequently, but it doesn’t really say much about quantities.” Canada reasoned, double-checking the papers in order to reassure everyone. “Because of the travel back to Paris you had nothing in the middle of the morning, though, that’s probably why you were starving by noon.”

“What kind of diet is that??” America asked surprised at Canada’s news, moving to steal a glance at the papers from over his brother’s shoulders.

“The diet was made to help France eat properly, America, not to make him lose weight.” England pointed out to his shocked son, before turning to his lover. “The kids go back home tomorrow, France, would you like to go shopping with the whole family this afternoon? Seychelles and Canada could cook this evening as well, so you won’t overwork yourself having just gotten out the hospital.”

“What if I forget to eat something in between lunch and dinner? What if I get sick while shopping?” France countered, annoyed at the current limits of his own body. “It’s better if I just remain holed up in our bedroom until the end of the month…”

“We’ll remind you to eat something. If someone asks, we’ll say it’s stomach flu.” England proposed, breaking a piece of bread to put some jam onto it and offer it to France.

Noticing his lover stubbornly rejecting the offered bread, though, he then simply smeared France’s lips with the jam playfully, so that he had to lick them clean. Having gotten a taste of it, however, actually led France to take the piece of bread with jam and eat it properly.

“You need fresh air, mom! C'mon, it will be fun!” America joined his English father in his attempt to convince France that he still wasn’t done for, soon followed by the rest of the family one by one until eventually the French nation capitulated.

It didn’t take long for the only nations that knew how to cook to write up a shopping list, and soon they were all ready to go out. Surprisingly, France felt sick only once during the walk and it didn’t even cause much hassle, something that managed to make him feel much better about the whole ordeal.

By the time they went back home France felt well enough to even reach some conclusions with his still extremely worried family about their living arrangements. Those could be summarised in _‘Asking Macron for feasible alternatives_ ’, but it was honestly better than anything they had extorted from France until then on the subject.

When dinnertime came, however, America made them realise that they had still another problem to solve aside an apartment in Paris too small for a still growing family and France’s reluctance to adapt to the new situation. Namely, that the French and English nations couldn’t just disappear seven months from the world and hope to get away with it.

“I was wondering,” America asked innocently, while they chatted at the dining table after having finished their meal, “will mom really be able to attend the gala at the White House scheduled for the end of this month?”

“What gala?” France asked, staring surprisedly first at his son and then at his lover, who usually had a firmer grasp than he did whenever it came to their political relations with their son.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” England could only answer America, however, desperately searching for an answer in the back of his mind but finding nothing adjourned there.

“The one for the withdrawal from Afghanistan!” America countered, looking visibly confused at the news. “I thought that you had already received the invite?”

“We've been cut off from the world for two weeks.” England pointed out, while America searched on his phone for the confirmation mail that he had gotten from his sovereigns about the gala.

“Well, here they say that dad has confirmed he’d attend the gala,” America disclosed eventually. “And mom is confirmed as his plus one.”

“And I was not invited as the French nation why?” France asked suspiciously, making America scroll some more with his finger down the past conversations in order to answer.

“You refused, deeming the signing idiotic. Macron will be attending, though, or so he said.” America summarised after a while, making France swear at the quite obvious con of his president.

“Wait, does this mean that I will have to attend anyway as England’s husband even though I refused as the French nation?” France said aloud. “When I’m with child!”

America just shrugged at his French father’s protests, not really understanding what the problem was.

“If you feel well enough to go, we can find a way to make you attend, France. More because Macron will be there and you are his nation than because you are my husband... At least, unless you manage to overthrow him in two weeks. Something that you might even manage.” England offered as reasonably as he could, hoping to quell a debate that was honestly starting to get on his nerves.

If France’s sovereigns had conned France, there was no doubt that his own gits had done the very same thing, something that to him had the same meaning as a war declaration.

“I'll try to reach out for my own sovereigns as well then, to ask them how this invite got confirmed for the both of us without any of us knowing a thing. Again.” The English nation concluded, visibly at his limits in dealing with his normal life with a France more uncooperative than usual and with whom he couldn’t blow off steam against their governments like he usually did.

“I bet that in the end it's a gala to sell off definitively your NHS to America's pharmaceutic industries~” France cheerfully teased his lover in retaliation, having understood that the situation had caught off guard England too, and wanting to take advantage of it. His comment, however, only got him his husband standing up irately and plainly snapping back at him.

“Fuck _you_ and the bloody NHS!" England yelled back at his husband as he dialled on his phone a number and then put the mobile into France’s hands with pure rage. “Talk about it among lefties and leave me alone! I don’t want to hear your nonsense!”

“Hi Jeremy, darling, it's the French nation here~” France greeted cheerfully as soon as there was an answer to the call. “Yes, England and I fought again about your NHS. I know this is the third time today, but he _really_ doesn’t get it... incredible, isn’t it? Are you having any better luck at home?”

Considering how dinner had derailed, the rest of the family left France on the phone with Corbyn and England to steam off alone in their bedroom, and they proceeded to do the dishes and clear the table.

They would have questioned the sanity of their English father's idea to leave France talking with his former Prime Minister candidate each and every time they fought about political matters, but seeing how it honestly worked for the both of them, they left their parents continue their new routine as it pleased them. With no little concern for the poor English politician caught in the middle.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	5. February 14th

The next day, England accompanied his kids to their flights while France stayed at home, dealing with the infamous morning sickness.

After having said goodbye to them at the airport, England took his chance to slip into his embassy in Paris to at least pretend to be willing to catch up on some of his work, while at the same time attempting to get some information about the gala America had mentioned.

Unsurprisingly, his sovereigns had honestly tried to get through him but, seeing how none of them was getting any answer, his Prime Minister had deliberately set several deadlines that England would have to abide to in order to either refuse coming to the Gala or to not bring his husband there as a date together with his other requests. Strangely enough, all those deadlines were prior to the date France was supposed to be discharged from the hospital, even though England had warned them beforehand that he wouldn’t be available during the time his husband was hospitalized.

As far as he could understand, they had no way to refuse the invite anymore, at least unless France was in a life-threating danger, something that he highly hoped would not happen. It would have solved their problem, but he wasn’t going to gamble his husband’s life just for the sake of retaliation against his sovereigns.

Nothing to say about it: the efficiency his Prime Minister sported to get England screwed was deeply admirable, no matter how he attempted it. The fact that he had also taken care to condemn France along with him, moreover, showed England that his ability to fuck nations was deeply recognised and appreciated by France’s sovereigns as well.

Fuck them all.

It was only when he was walking back to France’s apartment, however, that he noticed the abuse of red hearts and pink flowers all around Paris. He looked at the date on his watch and could only acknowledge that it _was_ Saint Valentine’s Day: now his children’s sniggers that same morning about leaving their parents alone just in time held a completely different meaning.

What had he given France the last few years during which they had attempted to celebrate the 14th of February –basically because it was way less dangerous than Beltane? Wine, chocolate, flowers, clothes, accessories… everything he could imagine and nothing he could gift him at the moment, since France would soon outgrow clothes and accessories. He couldn’t even bring back home something too flashy to eat, since what France was willing to eat changed with the same speed France changed his approach to the rest of the European Union. Wine and coffee were completely out of the picture and flowers... well, they were a difficult gamble considering that every smell could potentially make France sick.

If he had to think about what would make France feel still himself, however, what would it be? Suddenly, an idea struck him, an idea that he could only hope wouldn’t make France yell at him for its idiocy, since he had already abused Corbyn enough the day before to leave him on the phone with France again. They had plenty in common, but England had honestly proven to be the only one who could survive France’s drive, and the fact that for him it wasn’t even a real bother spoke of their couple’s peculiarity.

When England got back to their apartment, he found France cooking happily in the kitchen, something that would have been completely normal if they didn’t consider the small detail of France being pregnant.

“France? What are you doing?” England asked as he entered the kitchen, his voice laced with different shades of worry.

“Cooking.” France told him plainly, as if it was obvious for England to find him there.

“I see, but it’s not dinner, is it?” England asked once again, eyeing suspiciously the ingredients France was using. “Besides, you should lay down and rest.”

“What’s wrong with me cooking dinner? I’m not going to eat what you make and I’m perfectly able to cook our food.” France countered acidly, before rolling his eyes at his lover and decide that he wasn’t willing to let the discussion derail into a fight. “It’s not dinner, however, I just realised that today was Saint Valentine’s Day and that I didn’t finish your present yet. I’m improvising.”

“ _Finish_ my present? You mean that you were already working on it?”

“Yeah, since it’s not going to be a surprise anymore I guess I can just tell you,” France sounded slightly saddened by the admission as he eventually finished filling the chocolate shapes and put the chocolates he had been making to cool down in the fridge. “I found out a shop online that sells some quite particular tea blends, a few months ago. I bought you some samples.”

Since he was done with the chocolates, he washed his hands, put aside his tricoloured apron and took England’s hand in his to lead him towards the dining room, where there was a small basket with a metal case placed in the middle. Over the metal case, the words _Tea blends - Ceylon_ were carved on it in a loopy and gracious writing.

“I had planned to arrange it nicely, but I didn’t really have the time.” France admitted. “The only thing I could think about was adding some homemade chocolates to the ensemble, but I knew you would have come back before they were ready.”

England felt honestly bad seeing how his husband had been thinking about him despite the Brexit with so large foreseeing and, despite that, he still felt like he hadn’t done enough. Personally, he had just gotten lucky that at a certain point he had realised that, since all the red things he was seeing around Paris were heart shaped, they couldn’t be flags of the unions.

“France, you are an idiot.” He told his lover softly, then, before kissing him on the cheek and taking the metal case in his hands to read up the qualities of tea inside. “I love it just like it is.”

France found himself smiling at England’s words and took his chance to hold him tight.

“Happy Saint Valentine's Day, _mon cher_ ~” he offered then, stealing a small kiss from England’s lips.

“The chocolate wasn’t really necessary, but at least it means that we will have something sweet tonight for when we come back.” England took his chance to announce, hoping that his present would be well received by France just like his husband’s gift had been by him.

“Back from where?”

“I made a reservation for two in one of the poshest restaurants in Paris.” England revealed, lowering his eyes to put down the tea case and take France’s hands in his instead, only to stare embarrassed at the Dover ring on France’s finger. “We must be there by eight, but I guess you could enjoy a walk through the _Champs-Élysées_ before dinner to relax and recharge your batteries.”

“ _Angleterre_ , I don’t really think it’s a good idea...” France complained, visibly surprised by England’s unexpected decision.

“I never knew that pregnant people in their first months couldn’t go out on a date with their husband.” England pointed out, however, staring back at France blushing slightly. “You might have problems later on since you are a man, but exactly for this reason we should just make do until we can. You love dates.”

“Thanks, _mon amour_ ~” France could only answer to England, deeply moved by his attempts to cheer him up. “But-”

“Let's dress up, then!” England cut him short before France could protest any longer and make a case for himself. He then took his husband’s hand in his to physically drag him towards their bedroom. “I want to see French fashion at its worst.”

France smirked at England’s words and followed his lover, despite the many doubts he still held in his heart. It was only when England went to France to ask him some help to wear his cufflinks, though, that he noticed his lover staring sadly at his own perfect figure reflected in the mirror.

“You are gorgeous, we all know it France. You can stop admiring yourself.” He attempted to joke, then, only to receive an annoyed glare from France.

“My suits are all perfect fits and this already barely fits me like it should. And I'm just at the beginning of the third month... In a few weeks I will really end up secluded in my own apartment, no matter how I feel or what I want.”

“It's not really written in stone, though.” England felt the need to point out, leaving a soft kiss on his lover's shoulder. “Besides, I think you are just seeing things that are not there, how can your suits stop fitting you in less than two weeks?”

“I didn’t say they don’t fit at all, I’m saying they don’t fit like before.” France contested heatedly, glaring at his husband in the mirror. “Moreover, haven’t worn a formal attire since… New year’s eve.”

“Hmm…” England took his time to think a bit about what France was telling him, before moving in front of his husband to play a bit with France’s attire so that it resembled more the way his husband dawned his normal working clothes. “Like this should be fine, then.”

“Isn’t it better to just stop everything altogether?” France asked, sounding sincerely worried as he understood what England was attempting to do and gave him a hand with that. “And what about America’s stupid gala?”

“I have a suggestion about that.” England offered his husband, hoping that the current arrangement and his proposal were enough to calm France down for the moment. “But let's talk about it during dinner. If you don’t like it, we can discuss something else later on.”

France just sighed in resignation, then, and nodded before starting to work on England’s jewellery.

“We should also talk about how you still make me help with ties, cufflinks and buttons when you are perfectly fine doing it by yourself.” France took his chance to complain, however, only to earn a soft chuckle from England.

“C’mon, I know you like doing this for me.” He answered back, before taking France’s hand in his, this time to drag him outside. “Now, allow me to show off my handsome husband to the whole Paris.”

“Do it now, since I’m going to be fat and hideous in no time.” France growled, stopping England just before they were outside the apartment in order to get their coats.

“Bullshit. First: it’s not fat, but our child; and second: I highly doubt that any condition in the world would manage to turn you ugly.” England pointed out annoyed by France’s frustration. “You keep being handsome even when you get crushed to death in wars.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You bet it is. Why do you think I have opposed you for the best part of our lives?” England concluded, as he finished buttoning up his coat and dragged France towards the lift before he could start complaining about how also his coat was starting to feel tight around the waist.

In England’s opinion, the problem was simply that France’s elegant wear was overly tight in all the right places to make him look overly sexy, because as normal clothing went his lover was going to be fine until at least seven month pregnant. That consideration, however, made him even more worried about how they would survive the gala at the White House, for which he had elaborated only one feasible plan.

The romantic walk through the streets of Paris passed, much to France’s surprise and England’s delight, without any significant problem. Not even the smell of spiced chocolate or the abuse of flowers at every corner managed to give him the infamous morning sickness, something that made France almost forget why he had been opposed to go outside in the first place.

As England lead the way towards the restaurant though, France began turning slightly pale, a whiteness of complexion that became even worse when they stopped in front of the one England had booked.

“You know, _Angleterre_ , I do know that your Sterling is strong generally speaking, but not enough not to give away two months of your allowance to eat here.” France pointed out, noticing how they had stopped right in front of nothing less than _Arpège_. “How did you even find a place here last minute?”

“Someone had just cancelled, it was purely coincidental.” England admitted, completely conscious that being this Paris, his husband would have found out the truth one way or another. “I thought that you would have liked the posh however, and I guessed that whatever you are allowed to eat could taste better in a place so high rated. Oh, and I asked to put us as far as they could from the kitchen or the flowerpots as well. I hope it’s enough not to overload you with too many different smells.”

France could only turn towards his lover and kiss him hard on his lips with so much drive that England ended up feeling slightly dizzy himself.

“I frigging love you, you know _Angleterre_?” France told him as soon as they separated from one another.

“For a dinner out at an expensive restaurant?” England teased, despite feeling extremely happy to see how France had loved his improvised gift.

“For being so considerate.” France countered instead. “It’s not just the dinner out. I love being pampered and spoiled, and at this very moment I really needed it.”

“I do know that, that’s why this was the first option that came to my mind when I thought about what restaurant you would have liked.” England admitted, blushing slightly as he offered his hand to his husband. “C’mon let’s see how much this bright idea will cost me.”

Contrary to England’s reservations about Frenchmen, he had to admit that the restaurant personnel had managed to comply with each and every one of his stupid request. Probably, they had just taken pity on him, tagging him as an inept lover with too much money to spend, but since the description wasn’t much far from the actual truth, England was just glad that everything looked fine.

Unsurprisingly, the prices written on the chart were an eyesore, but there was such a variegated selection of choices that even France, despite his weird cravings, could find something interesting he was allowed to eat without risking self-poisoning. Apparently, like he had attempted at lunch that very same day, when left alone to his own devices.

If his idea worked well enough to keep his husband happy and alive throughout the pregnancy, England would have offered the restaurant all the pounds left in his bank account to have France eat there every day.

As they waited for their orders to arrive, England decided it was however time to tackle down the gala problem.

“Aside condemning my bank account here, I went to my embassy today to check the papers about America’s gala.” He offered then, attempting to sound as calm as he could. “My Prime Minister basically screwed us.”

“I guessed as much, but I don’t understand what has Brexit to do with the gala.” France answered, staring surprised back at England, who could just roll his eyes at him.

“ _Us_ as in _me and you_ , you idiot! I _was_ talking about the gala!”

“Wait, what do _I_ have to do with all that? It’s British politics.”

“It appears that your sovereigns decided that they could use the fact that I still hadn’t refused to make you go as well. We have been carefully trapped: we can’t get out of it unless we’re dying.”

“What about being in no condition to go outside?” France countered annoyed. “My clothes barely fit now, in a couple of weeks it will just get worse. Besides, America’s president still hasn’t understood that we are married to one another and America’s fathers, sometimes he even forgets that we are nations and how it works for us!”

“Trump aside, let’s be honest: the problem with the gala it’s just your most recent formal male wear. Your normal clothes, the antiquaries and the rest of your wardrobe are just fine, because you have always liked flowing and comfortable clothes.”

“ _Angleterre_ , I can’t wear casual or tunics at a formal gala at America’s!” France protested, fighting with himself not to yell too loudly, before he fully grasped the meaning of his lover’s words. “Wait, you said _male_ wear? The _rest of my wardrobe_? Are you suggesting me to go there dressed as a _woman_?”

“The only real problem will be people we won’t ever see again and America’s president, who won’t even remember that we have already met.” England explained matter-of-factly. “All the others will already be informed about your situation and be prepared to deal with that. Using a dress, you won’t even have to bother buying a new formal outfit that it still won’t fit you properly, because you won’t gain weight as an overweight man.”

“So? What do you think?” England concluded, seeing that his proposition had been met only with France’s doubtful stare.

“I need to think about it.” France answered England plainly. “I realise that it’s a logical solution and that it wouldn’t be the first time that I do something like this, but I’m still fucking _male_.”

“And I appreciate a lot you being a handsome male.” England then offered France, smirking up at him as he took his husband’s hand in his. “It’s just temporary, no one is questioning you.”

“You know that I can hardly be bothered by something like that.” France pointed out, smiling sadly up at England. “The real problem for me is not really having a choice in the matter. I put on dresses because they are cute, not as a masquerade... Well if it isn’t to trap the enemy, that is. But even then, it’s _my_ choice and _my_ tactic. ”

“The obligation too is just temporary, my handsome _country of freedom_.” England teased, quoting the way France had addressed America and eliciting a soft chuckle from the Frenchman for it. “What’s not temporary is my love for you, I hope you know it.”

France could just smile back at his husband and be glad that their orders had arrived just that moment otherwise, pregnant or not, France would have just fucked England silly in the bathroom. Aside the gala ordeal, dinner out proceeded smoothly for both nations: miraculously, in fact, France wasn’t killed off by the not-so-morning sickness and eventually England survived the bill. Overall, both of them deemed the result worth the bother.

A bit of fresh air made France feel way better, and soon both of them were back to the calm complicity of before. As soon as they were back home, France placed his homemade chocolates on a small plate and brought them back to their bedroom, where England was already changing into his pyjama.

“May I thank you for the lovely evening?” France offered his husband along with the chocolates.

“I’m more than willing to eat anything worth less than my entire monthly allowance.” England answered him, as he walked towards France to take a chocolate from the plate, his eyes lightening up as soon as the flavour began spreading inside his mouth. “Fuck it, France, they are tea-flavoured. I changed my mind: they are worth way more than what I paid the dinner.”

France chuckled at his lover’s words and put the plate on the bedside table before he began to change into his night attire as well. England apparently had other ideas, however, and moved towards France in order to help him out of his shirt while kissing his shoulders all the way up his neck.

“The doctor said I should help you putting on the cream, if I remember correctly.” England whispered to France’s ear, before he bluntly opened France’s trousers to lower them down his husband’s hips. “I should do it before you put on your nightshirt.”

“ _Angleterre, mon cher,_ do your plans for tonight actually include me getting dressed at all?” France asked curiously, taking his chance to take England’s hand in his and kiss it adoringly right over the Calais ring.

“Probably. Let’s see if you are… well, up to it when we are finished.” England admitted, allowing his lover to sit down on their bed and then lay down, as he went to retrieve the progesterone cream from the bedside table.

After some minutes of way too careful application of the cream, England decided that he could even stop pretending not to have ulterior motives and began kissing and caressing France’s chest, taking great pleasure into properly molesting France’s nipples, earning groans of pure frustration from his tortured husband.

Eventually, France decided he had enough to pretend that for him it was fine to just stay calm and put and quickly flipped England to his back, starting to devour his lips with hungry kisses as his hands started on the buttons of his pyjama.

“I want you~” France murmured in England’s ear, sounding aroused as well as desperate as he took a firm grasp of his lover’s buttocks to have their groins grind together before he physically perceived that the movement didn’t agree very well with his lower chest area. He changed slightly position and stilled his hips, then, so that he could have free access to his husband without putting too much strain on his loins.

It was true that the doctor had given them clearance to have sex quite easily, as soon as he had certified that the foetus was safely implanted in something he could call a uterus lining and was developing what it needed, still he forbade any weird movement of France’s pelvis, since the whole organ was precariously nestled in a still completely male physiology.

As they kept touching and caressing one another, England could only notice how France was literally trying his best to keep his fingers away from his ass, a knowledge that could only elicit a satisfied smirk from his lips: France loved to be wanted and appreciated, but England wasn’t really much different.

“I’ve been wondering… If you are a really, really good boy and if I can manage to be a really, really precise lover… well, we could just not switch, at least not until your belly gets in the way~” England offered his husband, moving enough that France’s fingers –currently caressing his back- almost slipped between his butt cheeks with the sudden movement.

“What are you proposing?” France managed to ask suspiciously, before England put him once again on his back so that he was free to get the lube from the nightstand. He took his chance to grab also a chocolate and to put it promptly in his mouth, before plainly handing the lube to France.

“You just need not to use your hips too much, don’t you?” England answered France before he kissed him deeply, smearing hot chocolate all over his husband’s lips on purpose just to lick it clean by himself. “Then don’t, I’ll do the work. I might not mind having your dick up my ass, but I’m not frigid.”

France could just laugh at his lover before he uncorked open the lube and started preparing England, soon eliciting from the island nation above him soft and needy mewls.

“ _Mon petit lapin_ ,” France could just whisper to England’s ear as he dragged closer to him. “It’s not really you being frigid the problem here, it’s me being not really sure I can stand to have you in my arms and keep quiet at the same time ”

“That’s why you have to be a very good boy,” England moaned, his ragged breathing hot against France’s cheek. “I’ll stop this if I see that you are putting yourself and the child in danger.”

France swallowed in disappointment, but had to acknowledge that his lover was right: one thing was acting as normally as they could another thing was being reckless.

“Fine, I’ll lay down and enjoy the view then~” He accepted eventually, earning a satisfied smirk from England who, as soon as he felt himself ready, escaped his grip in order to straddle him.

He retrieved the lube from France’s hands and poured some as well, to get France up to the task, which turned out to be easier than he thought, since despite the unusually quick foreplay, France’s cock seemed as interested as it had always been. As soon as he coated it with enough lube he slowly impaled himself on France’s hard cock. The movement stole both nations’ breaths, one willing himself to keep still and the other to start moving.

It wasn’t much England’s thing to be careful whenever he took the lead during their sexual encounters, so as soon as he was certain that he would be nowhere near hurting France, he finally adjusted his extremely slow pace to one more satisfying for the both of them.

The familiar pace his lover was keeping, together with the sight of England lost in pleasure above him, enraptured France enough to turn the excruciating obligation to _just submit for once_ into an honestly new and pleasurable experience.

He had frequently wondered why England sometimes simply stared at him, looking like he felt too much in awe even to dare touching him, since he barely took any time to enjoy his lover’s attentions and beauty. This was because, in all honesty, France had always been too busy doing something at whatever point in history in whatever position they found themselves, no matter what boundaries tied them or how quick they had to be.

If France wanted a kiss, he demanded to have one; if he wanted to touch England, he touched him. If he needed to change the pace, he bothered England until he got what he wanted or he simply took upon himself the task to get it, through any means considered legit during sex. England was beautiful and perfect in his eyes, no doubt about it, but France had always felt the need to be a step forward and rush at his level to demonstrate with facts the very same awe that left England to simply stop and stare at him.

Now he couldn’t take control of anything, though. Now he just had to wait for the chance to be offered what he wanted or to plainly ask for it, risking to not have it granted. In the back of his mind France knew that England would never deny him anything, still he couldn’t prevent himself from admitting that the lingering fear was still there.

It was strange and new, but it wasn’t really as unpleasant and embarrassing as he had thought it would be. Maybe it was because England was honestly doing his best to make all of this as pleasant as he could, fully conscious of France’s limitation, or it just was because after all those years together England was by now able to anticipate easily what his lover wanted, without needing the slightest suggestion. Undoubtedly, however, a great deal had to do with the fact that no matter what and how they were doing it, they were doing it together. As they had always done and as it would always be. 

As soon as England had willingly lowered himself down to a reachable level, France took his chance to properly pet and kiss his lover, that they had discovered was physically impossible when France was the one on the receiving end. Withdrawal was not something they had experienced in a long while, particularly in the sex department, and that was why, now that they could finally be back to love one another, it was only natural for them to take all the time they needed to tease, savour and explore every crevice of each other’s mouth, as if they hadn’t kissed in a long while.

How was that kissing felt so different during sex? Still, the reaction both of them were getting from their partner certainly showed that they were both feeling it.

It didn’t take long for both of them to feel close to climaxing. England then focused on tightening his muscles around France, in order to push him over the edge. France, understanding what his husband was up to, took a firm hold of England’s cock to guide him towards his own release. Mouths pressed together in a passionate kiss, hands caressing every inch of skin they could reach, it did not take long for both of them to come, each other’s name a breathless gasp on their lips.

Feeling completely spent, England had to put all his remaining wits together so not to crash on his lover. He let himself fall to the side, then, and for a while they both laid there together, trying to catch their breath.

“If I told you that I fucking missed this, what would that make me?” England dared to ask after a while, as he attempted to roll into a more comfortable position on his chest to stare back at his husband.

“Hot,” was France’s laconic answer, before he could even summon enough energy to turn his head to the side and look back at England. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” England answered, and then bent over him to kiss France softly on his lips once more.

“I’ll dress up for the gala.” France took his chance to announce, as soon as they parted. “I do _really_ only care about what _you_ think of me. If you find me still good looking even though I have to dress up for obligations, I don’t see why I should bother about my pride or about what the others think of our arrangement.”

“Nothing new there, then.” England teased him smartly. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to do it, though. You know that, right?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, and absolutely predictable in the long run.” France reassured him, chuckling lightly. “It really is the most logical solution, it’s just really awkward that you would be the one suggesting it. The world as we know it must be really coming to its end.”

“The lack of appreciation for other people’s feelings of you Frenchmen should become a legend!” England countered irately, making his husband burst into peals of laughter at his harsh reaction. England could only sigh resignedly before standing up to turn both of them presentable.

“I’ll prepare a bath for you as soon as I finish my shower,” he volunteered, kissing France once again before going to the bathroom, so to make it clear that, for some unknown reasons, he still loved him even though he was an asshole.

France, on his hand, could only thank his lover by reciprocating the kiss until he was allowed to do it, and then he covered himself the best he could with the blankets as he prepared himself to wait for England to come out of the shower, deeply satisfied by the much-needed break.

It was true that they had yet to tackle plenty of changes and problems but they would face them one by one as they came, together.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	6. The American gala

**The American gala**

In the days following the announcement for the gala, France had attempted to resume his work –in small amounts and always accompanied by England whenever he had to go somewhere– but the bit of normality had improved the French nation’s mood quite a lot. The very same mood that was supposed to be boosted by the uncovering of several tricks he had planned the months before, in order to make England’s Brexit a pure nightmare, such as his husband’s new passports being made blue, looking already worn out and being produced inside the factory with the least human rights in Poland.

Unfortunately, when he had planned the whole ordeal at England’s expenses, he hadn’t known that he would be pregnant and that he would therefore receive only a silent glare from his husband as a reprimand.

In addition to that, his last attempts to basically declare war on England on the matter of the trade agreements, as well as denying the exports of the much-needed masks to prevent coronavirus from spreading, didn’t manage to earn more than a resigned scowl from his husband. The plain acceptance with which his husband was taking everything in stride –except when he was honestly on the verge of losing it and left France on the phone with any reachable member of his left wing– only sobered up France’s mood day after day.

Eventually, the one thing that sincerely managed to keep up France’s morale was the fact that -as England had already guessed– his casual clothes still _fit_ him perfectly. He knew that his choice of wear had to have more advantages than just hiding how hard England made him whenever they fought in front of the others. His relief would not last much but for the moment it was enough. Morning sickness subsided _slightly_ as well, so they dared to eat out whenever they could and even choosing something outside of the diet provided by the doctor didn’t end up in a disaster.

Therefore, when they got back to the hospital in Strasbourg, both of them were quite in high spirits, despite the underlying worry about the exams France had sent in the day prior from Paris. The fact that even the doctor seemed rather pleased by the results, however, reassured them that there wouldn’t be bad news. This lasted, of course, until the doctor went to check if there was something wrong with the child by using a Doppler foetal monitor on France’s belly, ending his attentive scrutiny by making a face neither nations liked.

“Is there a problem?” England asked worried, automatically taking his husband’s hand in his.

“Let's put it like this,” the doctor answered him, as he put the Doppler away, “do you believe that this pregnancy and the child are a problem?”

“Of course not!” Both parents yelled at the same time, pleasantly surprising the doctor.

“Then there’s no problem.” He concluded, not really helping the two nations to understand what the hell was happening.

The doctor retrieved his ultrasound machine, then, and as it booted up itself he began coating France’s belly in gel.

“Ready to see a close up of your child?” he offered merrily, somehow worrying both nations even more.

They looked at one another and nodded, however, both of them instinctively huddling close to the other to quell their nerves at not knowing what was happening. Lingering in the background, however, they had to admit that there was also a lot of trepidation at the prospect to see the adjourned version of the reason of everything they had to endure lately.

As soon as the doctor began working on France’s skin with the sensor, onscreen they could eventually notice a tiny shape that looked bigger and much more a child than the nut they had seen the month prior.

“It's slightly growing~” France noted happily. “Everything is alright then, isn’t it?”

“Yes, the foetus looks like it's perfectly fine as far as we can tell now. There’s only one thing I'd like to show you.” The doctor answered, moving the sensor so that they could see it from a different point of view.

“Fuck me...” France blurted out in shock, positive that his vision had just doubled.

“Already done that, and it brought us here.” England muttered matter-of-factly, earning France's reproachful glare on him. England could just shrug guiltily to his condemning stare, realising that it wasn’t really the right time for such a joke no matter how true it was.

“Congratulations, you are having twins.” The doctor concluded merrily. “I believe that we didn’t notice before because we never really did a manual scan while you were in hospital. Still, everything considered, I think that’s probably related to something entirely yours that as Frenchman I’m not interested to know.”

“Why are you saying that?” England wondered, a bit suspicious about the doctor’s unorthodox approach for an explanation.

“The foetuses are perfectly separated despite sharing the same sac: they must have been two already when we dealt with you the first time in _my_ book.” The doctor explained. “If it happened later, it’s something that must relate to you in particular.”

“You know, France, now that he says it… It’s quite obvious that there would be two.” England attempted to reason, despite furrowing his eyebrows as he kept his eyes on the screen currently showing the two foetuses. “America and Canada are twins, and you were the one on the receiving side that time as well.”

“They are twin _brothers_.” France pointed out, eyeing wearily his husband for his weird idea before turning to stare at the screen. “Besides, they were born the normal way: popping out from nowhere because you can’t keep your magic in check.”

“You bloody–”

“Does either of you have familiarity with twins?” The doctor butted in, promptly interrupting the marital quarrel.

“Yeah,” both nations admitted grudgingly.

“My mother and his grandmother were twin sisters,” England explained before adding “to one another. It had something to do with us being specular lands, if I remember correctly.”

The doctor just stared some meaningful moments at England, before shaking his head and looking at the couple with a glare that blatantly told them ‘ _Therefore you were doomed since the very beginning_.’

“Specular lands…? Wait, _Angleterre_ , you are right! They had to be two!” France suddenly realised, as he mentally overlapped the images he was seeing with what he was supposed to see instead. “They are _at Calais_!”

“So what's up with Calais?” England asked however, staring confused at his lover and earning France’s scowl for it.

“Calais has two sides, hasn't it?” France explained, taking England’s wrist in his hand to show England their wedding rings.

“Do you mean the Dover-Calais strait?” England reasoned, staring confused at the rings until the reason finally clicked. “Our docks on _la Manche_! You are right, it makes sense!”

“Our bodies and physiologies are telling us to take care of our channel, _Angleterre_.” France agreed. “If we think of it like this, the miscarriage on the day we finalised the Brexit and the fact that we got two of them only after that fit perfectly in the picture as well. When you cut your relationships with the mainland… basically together with it you cut the channel in two sides like they were before we married.”

“Bloody hell…” England could only blurt out, receiving a weak smirk from France.

“Why is it that when you swear you never offer me something worth teasing you?” France provoked his husband, earning England’s pout for it.

“I can’t–” England could only whisper. “I just can't believe that _I’m_ the cause of all this. I basically cut your guts in two and had your body deal with more than it had bargained for.”

“You promised me that you would stop blaming yourself, didn’t you?” France reminded his lover kindly, dragging him close to him. “I need you to be by my side to make it through this, do you remember?”

England just nodded and swallowed, then, before proceeding to help France clean himself up and get dressed.

“If everything is alright, I'll give you another appointment in two weeks. I made some photos with the machine, so I will add a pen drive to the papers with the updated diet and the new doses of the supplements.” The doctor finished up, leaving the two of them alone as he went to get the printed copied of his notes and the pen drive. “Don't worry, you will not see many changes.”

“Doctor, we wanted to ask you… would it be alright to take a plane to the USA?” France took his chance to ask as soon as the obstetrician was back.

“I wonder why you would, but I can’t see why you shouldn’t.” The doctor answered plainly.

“Pity.” France could only comment, earning England’s eye roll.

“He has to be my plus one at a formal gala. _Your_ sovereigns worked with _my_ Prime Minister to make him go to America even though he had already refused.” England explained with a deadpan as he helped France standing up. “This teaches you that when French and English authorities work together, nothing good comes out for either nation.”

“History teaches me that nothing good comes out from anything that relates to our two nations, regardless of what it's happening.” The doctor countered, giving England the papers and the pen drive he had put together. “Let’s hope that these children are a nice alternative.”

That said, he dismissed the two nations, who happily went back at home to spend the rest of the day watching the photos of their new twins, as if they were almost normal parents.

It was only the next day, then, that France had the chance to phone their kids to give them the good news, taking advantage of the fact that England was driving him to a European meeting in Brussel. Going there by car had been England’s idea, no matter how illogical it was on a matter of both sustainability and loss of time for the both of them.

Still, since he wasn’t sure about what twins would entail in the long run, England had just decided that public transportation could wait until his nerves stopped shaking. And his husband stopped his frigging strikes. After all, after having accompanied France to the European parliament in Brussels, the island nation could just spend his time into a nearby library to do his own work, until it was time to get France back home.

It wasn’t that England didn’t trust France driving or taking the public transport alone, but considering that they only had France’s car in Paris at the moment and that the strikes were still as unpredictable –for him– as ever, he wished to keep his husband in his sights.

There was another reason, though, one England didn’t much like to share with his husband, preferring to show himself as over-worried and unreasonable as he could instead of hurting France’s pride –the fact that France’s casual wear still _fit_ him didn’t necessarily mean that people weren’t starting to notice that something was off. Most of the time, it was just because of France’s still frequent random sickness bouts, but to people who had known him for a long time it was starting to become quite obvious that his profile was rapidly changing.

When questioned –secretly on the phone by England– on the too-quick changes France was going through, the doctor had simply pointed out that during the tenth and eleventh weeks the uterus _was supposed_ to make room for what was needed and that –as opposed to a woman– the French nation wasn’t even _equipped_ with a uterus to begin with. If the profile changed to work around that and it didn’t mean that France was gaining unnecessary weight, then the pregnancy was simply going well.

And his pregnancy was indeed going so well that by the end of February France had to actually start crossing out some of his outfits even without others’ prompting, something that lead him to the decision to actually pack some women’s clothes for the gala at the White House, as he had agreed with England two weeks earlier.

Considering that they weren’t supposed to meet America’s president until the actual evening, however, France didn’t bother to depart dressed as a woman. They would have to meet their sons and their friends for the first round of encounters first, therefore overdoing would be useless, shaving beforehand included.

It was with some surprise then that the other nations invited at the gala noticed England arriving hand in hand with a tall blond woman, dressed in a sparkling white long dress and with her hair tightened up in a quite intricate fashion.

The first one to solve the riddle ended up being Canada, as soon as he noticed the baby bump easily visible under the soft folds of the dress.

“Bloody hell, that’s mum!” He whisper-screamed, making America spit the champagne he had been drinking back into his glass.

“Fuck, you are right!” America could only acknowledge, shocking all the other nations except Italy, who could only sigh resignedly at France’s ability to fool everyone when it should have been physically impossible – something that he had learned the hard way during WWII. “It’s insane what mom can do with some make-up and a dress, even if I must admit that the baby bump is helping.”

“He had no other choice, though.” Germany pointed out, staring at the couple in open shock. “He wouldn’t be able to pull off one of his usual suits with that baby bump… I didn’t realise he already showed this much at two months and a half, this morning it looked nothing like this.”

“Well, they are having twins.” Japan pointed out. “He’s bound to show even more than with a normal pregnancy, it's his normal wear that has always been deceiving.”

“What kind of pregnancy would be normal _for a nation_ , pray tell?” Cuba asked to his boyfriend’s brother-in-law, rising an enquiring eyebrow at him as he attempted to calm down Canada, still staring in shock at his French father.

All the chatter subsided however as the two married nations finally reached the group, both of them looking more relaxed than they had appeared in ages.

“Hi there, have you been waiting?” England greeted the small assembly of nations, visibly happy to show off his husband without having to fight the instinct that would have him kill off everyone who dared to make a comment about France’s appearance.

“ _Bonsoir, mes cheries!_ ” France offered them instead along with a kiss and a flirty wink, looking as if he was perfectly fine being at the centre of the attention.

“You look really good, mum! We almost didn’t recognise you.” Canada admitted as he reached his parents to kiss them hello, quickly followed by his brother.

“Well, yeah, your siblings occupy already quite a bit of room~” France answered cheerfully, letting a hand rest on his growing belly.

“Yeah, our best bet is on America’s president forgetting who we are, so changing from having a husband to having a wife wouldn’t be a big deal.” England took his chance to explain, as he successfully retrieved two non-alcoholic drinks for France and himself from one of the valets. “He is the only one we couldn’t explain the situation to, aside for the random guests.”

“I still don’t know how I’ve not gone into withdrawal.” France complained as he accepted the glass from England’s hand, annoyedly starting to sip his drink.

“Because you are more worried about the kids’ health than you are about missing wine.” England reminded him for the eleventh time that day, eliciting soft chuckles from all the other nations.

“I can’t wait for them to be born, however, it’s been a while since we had any new children in our family!” Italy took his chance to comment, between one cough and the other. “I bet that they will be adorable!”

“Of course they will be cute, they are mine after all!” France countered haughtily.

Despite the arrogance of France’s words, no one of the nations had the courage to tell him off, especially considering that the French nation could be many things but certainly he was not bad looking.

“Well, there’s still a bit to wait for it, though! Ha ha!” America decided to butt in, having a vested interest to avoid proving France wrong. “Let’s enjoy the journey! There are still lots of months to wait before the birth.”

“Yeah, there’s an actual male pregnancy right before our eyes~” Japan piped up from America’s side. He looked enthusiastic and a bit feverish. “That’s a dream come true! I can’t wait to follow this until France is fully showing. We certainly need to start planning right away for the most beautiful baby shower~”

Despite recognising the good intentions behind Japan’s words, both France and England –along with all the other nations except America– couldn’t help but being a little creeped out by his undying enthusiasm. America was just about to capitalise on his husband’s proposal to start considering what to do during the eventual baby shower, that all the nations were interrupted in their chatters by the host of the evening. It was time to survive another kind of problematic situation that no dress could minimize.

“I think I still didn’t say hello to you, did I?” America’s president greeted England as he approached him, followed at a short distance by his barely smiling wife. “How do you do? Have we ever met?”

England restrained himself so not to respond that ‘ _Yes, they had met already several times and he could at least notice they were two and offer his hand to France as well, bloody hell!!’_ and simply attempted an affable smile as he reciprocated the handshaking.

“Actually yes, I’m England. You might remember me as Arthur Kirkland.” He offered as politely as he could, his smile basically plastered on his face.

“Oh, you are in the same group as the kid then, aren’t you?” Trump guessed, nodding towards America, who grimaced annoyed at being referred to as _the_ _kid_. “You already know the kid, I guess?”

“Well yeah, I’m kind of the father of the _kid_.” England couldn’t help himself from answering, before he desperately attempted to change topic of conversation and moved to the side to allow France to step forward. “Do you remember my wife France? She declined at first because we are expecting, but in the end she felt well enough to come along.”

The incongruous presentation earned England the shocked stares of all the other nations as well as Mrs. Trump’s, who apparently remembered quite well that the English nation had no wife at all.

“Shocking enough of me, I don’t remember such a beauty.” The American president commented, offering his hand to France so that he could pretend to kiss it. “Got a new one after the first one got older, didn’t you? Trophy foreign wife, isn’t she?”

France fought with himself to follow the charade and offered his hand for a quick handshake, keeping a frozen smile on his lips. His annoyance, however, was still quite noticeable by everyone except the American president.

“I’m the only wife he has ever had, actually.” He countered acidly. “Francis Bonnefoy, America’s mother _and_ French nation.”

“You keep yourself well maintained then, foreign blood certainly works a different way.” Trump answered directly to his provocation, before turning towards England. “You did a good job in keeping her like this! It must have made it good knocking her up at her age, am I wrong? She must have her years considering the age of the kid.”

As the American president kept rambling, England simply wished himself dead. France’s expression instead was becoming any second more furious, until he just disintegrated the glass he was still holding in his hand.

“I’ll get something from the buffet, the children are hungry.” France quipped hastily, before storming away.

“Hey, don’t you tell her to keep an eye on food?” He could still hear Trump telling his husband, however. “They have a habit of becoming hideously fat when pregnant, but a pretty face has value as long as it lasts!”

Conflicted between going back and punch the man on the face or ignoring him, France eventually resorted to steal a metal tray from one of the valets and bent it in half with the movement of one single hand.

“I’m pregnant. It’s the sudden boosts of energy thing.” He quipped with a menacing smile to a couple of shocked guests that had witnessed the irate gesture, before leaving the tray on the buffet table and actually getting something to eat.

“I highly doubt that’s just the pregnancy. It seems to me that now we know where our nation took his strength from,” a woman’s voice came from behind him.

When France turned to bark away whoever was annoying him, he deflated when he realised that it was the American president’s wife.

“People never think that it’s the mother, don’t they?” France snapped quietly, resuming his gathering food on his plate and to taste some tarts.

“It’s true that they don’t. I do remember England having a husband and France being a man, though.” Mrs. Trump attempted to keep up the discussion. “Why the dress up?”

“How do you explain male pregnancy to someone who cannot even grasp the concept of homosexual marriage or the fact that women are human beings?” France protested annoyed. “ _That’s_ why I refused to come in the first place, fuck our sovereigns.”

“I’m sorry for what my husband said.” She said then quietly, offering a polite bow of her head to France.

“I’ve presented myself as woman whenever I felt like it my whole life. I’ve never been treated like that, not even by England during the middle ages and he _was a complete dick_ about it!” he finally snapped, focussing his frustration on devouring the piece of meat pie that he had just grabbed from the buffet.

“I guess that saying he’s old school wouldn’t work with someone like you.” The First Lady said drily, earning France’s resigned sigh for it.

Right then, America’s president walked behind his wife and patted her on the shoulder in approval.

“Good work, Melania, watch out that she doesn’t overdo it! It would be a pity to ruin such a pretty body, no matter how old it is.”

That said, he moved on to another group of guests, not noticing therefore his wife shaking her head in resignation and France putting down the plate of food he was eating from to turn quickly the bent metal tray he had stolen from the valet into an origami. When he had finished, he put the metal boat he had made into the First Lady’s hands.

“A present for your youngest.” He quipped, before he retrieved his plate and stormed back to his husband and the rest of his family, who were awaiting his coming back as if France was Marianne leading the French against the Monarchy. Obviously, in this scenario, _they_ played the role of the Monarchy.

As soon as he had re-joined the group of nations, though, France simply put the plate angrily in his husband’s hands and crossed his arms on his chest, glaring plainly at him.

“Eat it.” France ordered.

“Have you poisoned it?” England asked, somehow worried he had received a plate of food and not a bullet through his skull.

“I should have, but I didn’t.”

England sampled a snack and verified that at least his lover was speaking the truth.

“Have _you_ eaten something?”

“Don’t worry, not so much that it would ruin my beautiful figure.” France snapped back at England before glaring towards America. “Since a pretty face has _just that_ to keep as treasure!”

“Mom, we are not the ones who said that–” America attempted to defend himself, before he was interrupted by his irate French father and he resorted to go hiding behind Japan.

“ _You_ said _nothing_ to him!”

“I tried several times!! He doesn’t listen!” America whined from behind his husband’s smaller frame. “I’m so sorry, mom!”

“France, I know you are right and that you are furious, but think about the children’s health.” England attempted to calm him down, leaving the plate of food into Germany’s hands as he closed the space between himself and his lover to put a hand on his shoulder. “ _All_ of the children, born and unborn.”

“ _J'en ai rien à branler, Angleterre_!” France yelled instead, turning back to face his husband. “What the fuck did he tell you while I was away? And be honest about it!”

Silence dawned on the entire group of nations and all of sudden everyone seemed completely absorbed by something else. Under the disapproving stare of his French father, even the always-caring Canada had quickly disappeared together with his boyfriend, using the excuse of needing to consult with Cuba urgently and privately about the spreading of the Coronavirus epidemic.

“I love you.” Was the only thing England managed to say, eventually, when France’s glare returned on him.

“He wondered if England had already gotten a younger lover for the time you were pregnant.” Japan confessed eventually, guessing that they were all about to be yelled at, no matter how they attempted to sugar coat it. “England answered that he had not, and that it would be impossible since you lived and worked together in France at the moment. Because of that, he complimented England on having placed France under his control and admitted that, if this was a political marriage, it was reasonable that he had kept you and knocked you up so late in your years just to make sure to keep the power.”

“Who is in charge of France, I beg your pardon?” France could barely ask to his friend, disgusted by Japan’s honest summary.

“Big Brother France, some sovereigns are just like this.” Italy attempted to intercede, hoping to calm him down but only ending up incinerated by France’s glare.

“I don’t want to hear this from you!” France yelled back at his cousin. “ _You_ started this!”

“I’m so sorry, Big Brother!” Italy could only whine, before retiring in Germany’s embrace to be comforted grudgingly by the German nation.

“France, for how much it pains me to say this,” Germany decided to attempt closing the topic. “If my Chancellor survived Italy’s Prime Minister during his entire terms, you can survive America’s president for one single night.”

As an answer, France just snorted unladylike at all the other nations and retired himself to the opposite side of the room to steam off far away from his unsupportive friends and family. It was only some time later, that a young woman and an old man approached him.

“What is the French nation doing secluded alone in a corner?” The old man asked curiously, unsuccessfully attempting to get France’s attention.

“I would say: what is the French nation doing here dressed up as a woman?” The young woman pointed out instead. “You keep stealing the spotlight no matter how you dress.”

The slight shock he had felt at being addressed as himself disappeared as soon as he recognised the two democratic representatives.

“Bernie! Alexandria! I thought I was alone at this frigging gala.” France greeted his friends, hugging them close. “How are things going?”

“We keep fighting, as always.” The old American senator said amiably, before taking a long stare at France. “You have news, though. I have to say we didn’t really believe them until now. We thought Jeremy was exaggerating and your husband just didn’t want to go back home after the Brexit.”

“Well, there’s a bit of truth to that, but the news is how you see it.” France admitted, resting his hand on his baby bump. “However, your president thinks that I’m old and about to get ugly and fat, and that England should get a younger lover while I’m so hideous. I wonder what he would have said if he had known that I’m actually older than England.”

“He probably would have made a joke about how England is just like _your_ president,” the senator guessed, sighing in resignation.

“He’s not in his right mind,” Alexandria declared instead. The democratic MP’s lapidary comment earned a reproachful stare from the older politician, met with a simple shrug by the young woman.

“I’m used to dress up as a woman, but this is the first time someone said something like that to my face.” France complained. “I didn’t know we were so backwards.”

“Things went backwards in some areas, that’s true, but for the most part they just stayed the same. _You_ are seeing that _now_ only because how badly women are treated has spread even to places that had managed to keep at least some common courtesy before.” The young woman countered sadly, going to rest her back against the wall next to France. “Even then, they just kept the formalities and nothing else. The problem was there already, it just had never really been tackled down. Now we are facing the consequences.”

“I thought that my _Lumieres_ had solved everything.” France admitted sadly.

“They helped, in some ways.” The senator attempted to comfort him. “We still have a lot to fight though.”

“I needed to feel a bit of comradeship.” France offered to the two democratic representatives, who could only smile back at him. “Thank you, I’ll send you some other slogans as a token of my commitment to the cause~”

“That’s what comrades are for~” Both of them answered him, before all three of them burst in a soft laugh and moved on to other topics of conversation –like the deplorable state of England’s NHS and the cuts proposed by America’s sovereigns on Medicare.

After a while, England’s voice reached the three friends, sounding completely subdued and sad. “Sorry to bother you, but may I have my husband back? Please?”

In front of the two democratic representatives’ surprised stares, France answered England with a kind and forgiving smile. Guessing that the two husbands wanted to talk, then, they discretely gave their goodbyes to the two nations and their best wishes for a healthy pregnancy, before going back to the gala.

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to stand up for you, France.” England told France as soon as they were finally alone. “I’m really sorry, love.”

“According to what Japan said, you tried. It’s enough.” France offered England only for his husband to bite down on his lower lip and look as if he was about to cry.

“I could have done more.” England countered, soon ending up enveloped by France’s reassuring arms. “It’s hard finding a way to go against him when I can’t even defend myself from my own sovereigns. I hate this feeling.”

“People like them are particularly hard to face.” France reassured him, starting to pet his husband’s hair to reassure his lover that everything was all right. “That’s why I could have been more reasonable. With you at least.”

“What do you mean?” England asked, finally daring to stare up at his husband.

“I don’t really know, I need to think about it.” France admitted, taking his chance to let his hand run down to trace his lover’s jaw, so that he could keep England staring back at him. “We can’t let things go on like this, however.”

“I’ll have your back, if you need my help.” England offered without any single prompt.

“I won’t ask you that.”

“No need to ask.” England reassured France with a smile, as he took a step behind to straighten up in front of his husband. “Siding with one another is what we live for.”

“Thank you.” France accepted with a kind smile, before leaving a quick kiss on his husband’s forehead and then take his hand to accompany him back to the gala. “Let’s do public relations, then.”

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	7. Coronavirus

After the American gala hysterics, things went smoothly, as far as the pregnancy was concerned.

Except for the EU meetings, everything continued as if nothing had changed at all since the beginning of the Brexit transition year and France’s hospitalization. NATO and UN meetings were the best, since both nations could attend without any diplomatic problem, while for all the other job-related necessities France joined his government and England walked to his own embassy. Whenever they could, though, both of them simply preferred not to move at all and work from home, shoulder by shoulder.

Still, the pandemic China and Italy had warned them about since the end of January was every day passing by harder to ignore, especially considering the news that came from the closest of the two.

After a lot of fighting between the two of them, Romano had to resort tightening up Veneziano to his bed, in order to make him finally rest so not to worsen his condition. In the light of the results he had achieved, the Italian Government considered Romano’s strategy such a pretty good idea that they proceeded to lock down the whole peninsula, in a desperate attempt to stop the virus from spreading and save both their people and their economy.

Italy had used his confinement under quarantine to call his cousin daily, in a desperate attempt to warn him about the health crisis and to plead for help, but France, being his usual egocentric self, had done his worst to turn him down; as the days went on though, France couldn’t really ignore what was advancing and attempted to put some work into action, despite his need to show himself as uncaring as he could in front of his cousin’s warnings and pleas for collaboration. 

As for England, he began to worry only when one night he was awakened by his husband coughing violently and, after he had taken his temperature, he realised that it had risen well above the alert limit declared by the medical news regarding the new virus.

“France, I thought you were working on protecting yourself!” England yelled angrily at him, only to feel guilty the very moment those words left his mouth as he realised just how pale his lover actually looked.

“It’s fucking impossible, the trust in my government is too weak and we are all too much interconnected with one another...” France weakly confessed, staring back at him despite still curling himself on his side of the bed and shivering. “In case we end up having to follow Italy’s path, we might have to do it slower than him, and he was already too slow...”

“I thought you were against copying Italy.”

“Is there really anything else worth doing?” France admitted grudgingly. “We will collapse later since our health system is stronger than his, but we are still going to fall. All of us.”

“Then why have you been a dick to him the whole week?” England asked, scratching dubiously his head as he stared down confused at his husband.

“Because that’s what cousins do!” France exclaimed, pouting at him, much to England’s definitive disappointment. “And he declared war to me when I was at my lowest.”

“France, that was 1940.” England reprimanded his lover, as he got out their bed once again to get France some water to quell his coughing a little bit. “It was 80 years ago. In the meantime we saved you, you concocted this weird thing called Europe in order to be able to sleep through the night, we secured our power through alliances and international cooperation, and now you are safe from both Italy and Germany.”

When he came back and gave the glass of water to France, however, his husband was evidently glaring at him.

“What?” England asked.

“You stopped me from having my revenge after the WWII, and _now_ you are leaving me _alone_ with _them_.” France complained, sipping reluctantly the offered water only to put it back quickly on the bedside table, as he coughed violently once again.

“No one will touch you in foreign politics.” England retorted exasperatedly, slipping once again underneath the duvet. “Our Entente Cordiale is still there and so are the NATO and the UN.”

“As long as you don’t get tired of your poor coughing husband here and forego that as well.” France groaned. “And I still don’t have a strategy for dealing with the rest of the Union without you there. Worst of all with a pandemic.”

“Still, at least you are working on both of them.” England sighed, turning towards his husband to caress adoringly his hot cheek. “My Government and America’s still think the epidemic is a hoax.”

“Do us Romance nations seem like a hoax to you?” France pointed out, coughing once again. “Spain is feeling as bad as me at the moment; we will end up no better than Italy in a matter of weeks.”

“I’m not saying that I agree with them. Still, we have less power than you do right now. They don’t listen to us and they care even less about the safety of our children.” England explained better, cuddling closer to his husband and dragging him back in his embrace. “Great time for a pandemic, let’s hope that at least all our kids will all be alright.”

“I’ll call America and Canada tomorrow, but you need to get in contact with your own Government and talk about this, _Angleterre_. America will certainly need us, because he has nothing to get him through this.” France took his chance to warn his lover, tightening his grip around England’s waist for comfort so that his baby bump pressed lightly against England’s lower belly. “Also the twins need both their parents to survive. We can’t die easily, but we don’t know much about these two.”

“I’ll try my best.” England promised, leaving a soft kiss on the top of France’s head before both of them attempted to fall asleep once again.

* * *

Unfortunately, England and France both had been quite right with their assumptions, even though England hadn’t actually believed that it would eventually turn out _this_ bad on his end. After pleas to listen and also attempts to strangle one another, France had eventually convinced Macron to step up on the Coronavirus containing plan, closing up schools and universities, imposing distances and ordering limitations regarding large crowds. They were still fighting over the elections and other kind of restrictions, but at least they had agreed on something.

England’s demands, instead, fell to a dead end. It wasn’t as if he had received a plain refusal to act from his Prime Minister, but he had simply received figures. Graphs of their economy, of the devastating loss of resources they were expecting from the Brexit, of earnings from markets that weren’t EU (that weren’t as high as they were supposed to be) of the numbers of ICU beds available in their NHS, of the expected loss to their GDP if England didn’t do the smart thing by calling back all the Universities he had convinced to close to make them open once again…

England wasn’t France: he liked figures, economy, finance and everything that was more challenging than calculating the right amount of butter to use in his cooking so not to end up with a dinner soiled in oil. He realised that he should have bothered to learn that as well, but he had married France so not to need this, just like he didn’t need to place economy in a Renaissance palace structured as a museum only to have the stomach to _look_ at it, something that apparently his lover _did_ need.

Despite that, though, those figures and graphs were not enough of an answer for him at the moment. The harsh reality of what he’d been sent left him in shock, staring down at his mobile phone as he sat on his bed in silence even after the call had ended.

“ _Angleterre_ , I’m about to prepare dinner.” France asked as he entered their room coughing. “Do you want something in particular?”

No answer.

 _“Angleterre_?” He repeated, only then noticing the shock clear on his husband’s face. France sighed at the sight, and went to sit next to his husband to take away the phone from his hand. After having placed it on the bedside table, he focused back on him and cupped his chin, to make England facing him and finally meet his eyes.

“ _Mon amour_? Did something happen?” He asked once again, taking his chance to kiss him on his forehead to reassure England that he could count on him.

“He wants me _dead_.” England eventually managed to answer, his lips trembling in fear. “He’s not planning for any restrictions; he counts on the herd immunity factor…”

“Herd immunity doesn’t work without a vaccine and I don’t really think that it would even work with a coronavirus.” France countered, frowning as he evaluated the propositions of England’s Prime Minister.

“Still, he’s planning to keep it as it is. He asked me to call back the universities that I convinced to close in order to make them reopen.” England replied, swallowing in dread at the prospect, as France enveloped him in his arms to comfort him.

“I won’t allow him to do this.” France stated, tightening his grip around England as his eyes flamed with fierce determination. “And if everything else fails, we’ll go down together.”

* * *

In a couple of days, France managed to persuade his own President to call an urgent G7 meeting online. The fact that at the side of Italy’s Prime Minister there was Romano and not Veneziano was the first thing that made all of them realise that prejudices weren’t really going to save any of them this time. After hours of yelling and proving that herd immunity wasn’t a possibility when there was no immunity to the virus to begin with and that the only way out of this was to simply lock down everything, some measures began to be implemented worldwide.

On England’s side, however, what was approved was still not enough, while on America’s side the measures ended up being a patchwork of actions and counteractions that drained and wasted precious resources instead of rightsizing them. France went on full lockdown the day after the meeting but, as he had feared, it was already too late and soon he ended up so feverish that he could barely stand up, let alone work. How nothing that was happening was affecting the twins negatively was a mystery England linked to the fact that they were nations and he himself was still feeling relatively well.

Worried that soon the same would happen to him as well since the death toll was rapidly escalating, one night England waited for his husband to fall asleep and then decided to attempt to find an alternative way that could temporarily help all of them. He changed the warmed up cloth over France’s forehead with a fresh one and then, and as soon as he was certain that he would be fine on his own, England went to retrieve his book of spells.

After half an hour of reading through his options –interrupted only by France’s moans of distress coming from their room– England finally arrived to some conclusion and approved a couple of spells.

Nothing happened after the first chant, though, and when his second attempt didn’t work the way it was supposed to either, he ended up leaving the books of spells in a corner and went back to their bedroom. Once there he changed the wet cloth on France’s forehead once again and went to sleep cuddled up against his feverish husband, hoping to find a better spell the next day.

The following morning, however, France woke up only to realise that England’s conditions had just turned worse than his overnight. Hoping to find more information about what was happening to his lover he searched through the articles of every news agency he had subscribed to, though he found nothing particularly shocking there. Considering that the official death toll was still normal as well, France resorted to call the whole French government on a meeting online.

As soon as they appeared on the screen, he began yelling at them, demanding them to tell him what the fuck was happening in England since there was no way that they weren’t involved, one way or the other. Scared by his sheer anger, every minister instantly logged out, leaving only Macron and Philippe to survive the feverish nation’s antics.

“His Prime Minister has been put in intensive care a couple of nights ago. The only thing that comes to my mind is that England’s condition could be linked to that with some delay.” France’s Prime Minister attempted to reason. “Why call _us_ though? If it was just a matter of knowing what happened in England, you should have called _his_ sovereigns.”

“Because I thought we had an agreement, you and I!” France yelled back, having to stop his rant to cough and take some deep breaths, in order to focus properly on what he was attempting to say despite the dizziness brought on by the fever. “Leaking as much information you could to England’s secret services about the pandemic, having Europe still financing his NHS until the end of the year and include him in the projects to acquire proper PPE. Getting all of this through sustaining or opposing the rest of Europe and England himself I left it to you, but you swore to me that we would include him!”

“We and everyone else _did_ that! Despite this, his Prime Minister ignored his own secret services at the beginning and then he refused to bulk-buy together with us!” Macron took his chance to protest. “We’ll have to wait and see if he gets back to the living before trying again, however-”

“He will still refuse, and whatever we say will be used by him to demonstrate how Europe is against Britain.” Philippe concluded Macron’s explanation, hoping to cut the debate short. “There’s nothing practical we can do except wait for them to see reason and in the meantime get back on track ourselves. If we pull ourselves together, we might be able to help him later on. If we have to.”

“Should I wait for my husband to _die_ by the hands of his own government, then?” France asked back, angry with himself for his complete lack of power in the current debacle.

“I meant that _we_ did everything we could, now it’s up to _them_.” Philippe pointed out shortly. “You _know_ Europe was not going well even before the pandemic, and at the point we are now we need a drastic change ourselves not to fall apart.”

“Brexit took the power out of our hands, undermining Europe and our political influence. And now the pandemic is going to tear all of us apart even more than before, since even _you_ can get exploited no differently than Greece and Italy are.” Macron explained better, showing no more empathy than his colleague did. “How we can deal with England depends on how well we are going to govern Europe, be it towards its renewal or its demise. We have to treat it like war, you should understand that much!”

France’s lower lip trembled hearing his sovereigns’ words, mostly because he knew those held more truth than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He bit down on his lower lip, then, as soft tears began streaming down his overheated cheeks. Only when they saw France breaking down, his two sovereigns realised that their choice of words probably wasn’t the wisest at this precise moment in history.

“I know that!” France managed to shout eventually, despite the wavering of his voice. “Fight it like we would in a war, since it’s the only thing us French can do well, I just… I can’t think of losing him, and the fever and the pregnancy aren’t helping me think straight about the situation we are in, as you unfaltering politicians are able to do.”

France’s reaction left both his sovereigns quite perplexed, even though it was quite easy to understand how for their nation things weren’t as easy as they had planned it. It was rare to see France breaking down, but they had to admit that the situation _was_ completely out of the ordinary, and that the fact that all of this was happening while the official ties between France and England were wobbly and fragile certainly didn’t make it any better.

“It’s my fault…” Macron admitted eventually, earning Philippe’s inquisitive eyebrow on him. “I’ll change approach. You are right, I keep addressing the whole nation in the wrong way and you can’t deal with this at the moment. It won’t solve the problem with England, but it might help getting us through this chaos a little bit better.”

“Thanks.” France muttered resentfully. His sovereigns allowed him some more time to let the tears flow before finally calling back the rest of the French government and start brainstorming together about what the hell they could do to drag France –along with Europe and England – out of that mess.

* * *

Despite Macron’s change of attitude towards the French people, things didn’t turn out well enough for France to stop worrying about the consequences of the pandemic and of the Brexit in general. If France’s president in his new speech addressed his people about trust and love had slightly calmed down the nerves of France and the French, the interview following the reunion with the other Europe leaders had instead scared everyone. This because no one in the world had ever imagined the chance to see Macron dressed _à l’anglais_ and smiling to the journalists with a nonchalant attitude that was so obviously faked.

The most creeped out by all that had been France, considering that if someone could recognise fake nonchalance it was _him_. It was obvious that things weren’t going well, no matter that his government kept reassuring him how not everything was lost. Everything that wasn’t Macron’s chance at re-election, of course, since considering the results of the first round of municipal elections –that France had prayed his sovereigns to postpone– was really a lost cause even before 2022 came.

All France could do, in the meantime, was to stay at England’s side and care for him the best he could, since the island nation still didn’t offer any sign of waking up from his feverish slumber. No matter what France attempted to do, England just slept through days and weeks, showing all the signs of the by now familiar illness. He wasn’t in such a bad condition to need intubation, but the hospital in Paris had still provided them with a respirator, asking France to warn them if something were to change. Fortunately or not, no change had happened whatsoever for the better or the worse, something that by itself told France that things weren’t certainly going well in England either.

That’s why, as soon as his own fever subsided, all the rest of his time was devoted to plan for when the pandemic would be less of a bother. It was something he was already working on –hoping that it would give him enough space in the international panorama to force his hand on his lover and get him back– but now he had to refine it into some sort of gamble that had as the prize his whole family’s survival.

At the beginning of May, though, France was still working on his plan, while around him nothing gave him any sparkle of hope to lighten his worry. He would have liked to have at least the chance to gain some strength talking about the mess they were in with England, but much to his dismay he still showed no sign to wake up from his coma. France, hoping that it could help him waking up, had attempted to talk to him daily, to cook something he liked, to kiss him and even to play music for him, but nothing had sorted any effect.

Still, it was exactly when France felt he needed him the most that something finally happened and, without any warning, England eventually woke up to the sound of an accordion playing not far from his bed.

At the beginning, the English nation thought that it was the fever getting the better of him, but as he turned towards the source of the music and found himself staring at the window, he finally realised that the sound hadn’t been an illusion. There, sitting on the windowsill that opened over a Paris silent like never before was France, playing a familiar melody with his old accordion.

He couldn’t really place the song, but he was quite sure that the lyrics France wasn’t singing described the character of the different provinces in France. It wasn’t a sad song per se, but it turned abruptly sad and self-deprecating at the end of each strophe, only to become even melancholier as it ended, like many of the songs France liked to play with his darned accordion.

“Things must be really bad, if you’re playing that blasted thing…” He stated, his weak voice sounding muffled to his own hears behind the oxygen mask.

France had heard him though, and he quickly stopped playing to put the accordion on the nearby counter and jump off the window frame, in order to rush at his husband’s side.

“ _Angleterre, mon amour_! You finally woke up!” He cried out in relief, as he moved aside the chair over which he had placed the basin of water he had been using to wet the cloth on England’s forehead, so that he could kneel on the floor next to him. “ _Comment ça va, mon petit lapin_? Can you breathe?”

“Not well…” England could only admit, staring up with worry at his lover as he took in France’s pale features and the dark shadows under his eyes. “You look no better than me, though…”

France offered him a weak smile and held his hand tightly in his own, before bringing it to his lips and kissing it with love.

“I just really missed you,” he answered plainly, “and I had a lot of work to catch up.”

“France, tell me the truth, how are you and the others?” England pressed on, getting restless because of France’s lack of a proper answer.

“We’re not bad.” France offered then, sitting on the bed next to England so that he could bring his husband’s hand to his bulging stomach and allow him to feel the children moving inside.

England’s first thought, feeling the now perceptible movement under his hand, was that the twins hadn’t done it before he’d fallen asleep. And yet here they were, attempting –while still safe inside France– to communicate with him and the outside world. It was an emotion England wasn’t honestly prepared to feel –not so suddenly after waking up at least– yet he had no time even to ask himself _why_ he was already able to feel them and even less time to feel elated by the event. He only had to notice the size of France’s belly to make the answer to all of his questions quite obvious.

“Italy and Spain got out of the worst of the pandemic, you know?” France continued to explain, making it clear that England’s fears were actually real. “Romano brought finally Veneziano back from Germany the other day: he’s still not completely healed, but he’s not in dire conditions anymore.”

“France, what day is it?” England asked eventually, the bits of odd information coming from his husband along with the drastic change in France’s appearance worrying him more than they reassured him.

“The tenth of May.” France told him quietly, looking at everything that wasn’t England. “You slept quite a lot.”

England took a split second to focus back on the situation in his home island and adjourn himself of what the hell had happened during the time he had been unconscious.

“I fucked up quite a lot, it seems,” he acknowledged at the end of his check.

France, on his end, couldn’t really say anything against the quick summary: the worst recession in 300 years, along with the risk of a no deal Brexit, and the general absence of PPE and medicines during a pandemic couldn’t really be put in a nice light.

“You really did.” France confirmed, valuing how he could phrase properly the accusation he had been holding up until then. “I found your books of spells.”

“France, I–”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” France interrupted England with determination. “I read the spells you took notes about: you shouldered my side of the illness as well as your people’s and your Prime Minister’s disease after-effects.”

“What else should I have done?” England admitted, feeling extremely guilty hearing France’s heavy edge of reprimand.

“Let them as well as us pay for our errors!” France reprimanded harshly. “I don’t need to be protected and the same goes for your people and your sovereigns, especially if this puts you out of it for more than a month!”

“They are my people, no matter how much we are currently destroying ourselves because of our own actions. And _you_ are functioning less than you can because of me.” England stated, searching for France’s hand to give himself strength. “It was a small price to pay, if this makes it less hard on you and on them.”

“You only managed to leave us alone a whole month. All of us.” France countered, moving the hand England had grasped to his stomach so that his message could be clearer for England. “I know that it’s in your nature, but please stop being this self-destructive. I swear that I’ll conquer you if you keep on like this!”

“I don’t remember anymore why it should be such a bad idea.” England admitted with a sigh, finding himself smiling automatically as he noticed that his words had finally made France stop staring angrily at him. “What about the kids?” England dared to ask, then.

“Canada, Seychelles and Sealand called me today pretending to send me their best wishes for Mother’s Day.” France offered with a short laugh, attempting to bring some better news to the complete mess they were in. “Despite the silliness of it, it was good hearing from them, they are faring way better than us at the moment.”

“What about America?” England asked, his voice slightly trembling with worry realising that their eldest was the only one left out by France’s tale, and not liking the possible meaning of it one single bit.

France’s only answer was a simple shake of his head. England took a deep breath to calm down his worries, then, but found it much more difficult than he had thought and he just ended up coughing violently.

“Stay quiet, _mon amour_ , please. I’m working on a way to allow all of us to get back on track.” France attempted to reassure him, caressing his husband’s chest kindly to ease his spasms.

He took his chance to ensure that the machine that helped England to breathe was still working properly before he focused back on his husband.

“I’ll use up my every last bit of decency left, but I swear to you that I’ll lead you two out of this mess along with me.” France continued, attempting a small smile. “I _will_ find a way, _mon coeur_ , for all of us…”

The anguish behind France’s words made through England’s pain, and as soon as his coughs calmed down, he stared back doubtfully at his lover.

“France, how are things with Germany?” He demanded to know, earning a resigned shrug and a pout from the blond Romance nation.

“He wants my seat at the UN and a common army…”

“France, we gave _you_ that seat because of what _he_ did to you during the WWII!” England attempted to yell back at France, shocked by the news that the situation had disintegrated so much. “ _I_ gave it to _you_!”

“But if I don’t give it up or if at least I don’t pretend to do so, my cousins and I will get broke: we can’t repay the money we are asking Europe, no matter if there won’t be direct consequences in words. Those who benefited from this pandemic are already offering themselves to buy us up, no differently than what they did with Greece when we basically sent him to ruins.”

“France, you want my fish don’t you?” England told France abruptly, doing his best to sit up and stare back to his lover’s eyes despite the pain he was feeling throughout his whole body.

“Yeah, and I’m not getting it, it seems…” France said with a pout, earning England’s weak smile behind the air mask and a warm caress on his cheek.

“But I want your medicines and your food.”

“ _Angleterre_ -”

“Let _me_ work on this, honey, you just… don’t give up just yet, and don’t plan everything on your own,” England pleaded, but France could only shake his head at his lover as he smiled back at him.

“You have your own work to do, _mon cher_. You need to think about how to save your home in case I will really need you to back me up, in the end.” France told him resolutely, offering England a look that his husband hadn’t seen in a long time. “You brexited. This means that I need to find my own way to govern this fake federation, if Europe proves not to be as doomed as it seems. If I don’t attempt to govern this, we three are finished.”

“France–” England’s words halted as France left a soft kiss on his forehead and helped him to rest back on their bed.

“It will be fine.” France reassured him with a smirk on his lips, before looking through the open door of their room towards the kitchen table over which he had been working. “It might turn out a bit ugly at the beginning and I’ll certainly lose my reputation in many ways, but we will all be safe in the end. I hope.”

England couldn’t see very well what France had been working on, but it had all the looks of a war plan. A war plan written on what looked like a yellow banner. On the side, there were also Europe’s starry blue flag and a word map, something that worried England even more than the rest of France’s working materials.

“France, Italy will sincerely kill you if you–”

“Italy won’t do a thing, and it’s not really set in stone that I will have to go all the way through either. I just need a back-up plan ready to use, that’s why I’m working on several at the moment.” France explained to his lover with firm determination, “I’ll protect our family, _Angleterre_ , even if this is the last thing I’m going to do.”

“France, last time you lighted up the sparks, you caused the first world war. Now you tell me that you don’t have just one way to make it happen again, but _several!_ ” England reprimanded his lover, earning only an offended pout from France.

“I thought we agreed that it wasn’t my fault back then.” France cut him short, before offering England a much warmer smile. “Besides, now that you are awake we can finally resume the fun. The Brexit treaties are finally back on the list of things to discuss.” He chirped happily, earning a choked laugh from his husband.

“It will end up like old times, won’t it?”

“Of course, _mon cher,_ that’s what we promised one another, didn’t we?”

France kissed England’s forehead and settled the duvet better on his lover, before going to retrieve the chair he had pushed aside and proceed to cool down England’s temperature with a newly dampened cloth.

“I’ll prepare you something to eat as soon as you feel better. You will need it to recharge your batteries.” He offered then, feeling glad that, even though England’s temperature was still quite high, at least it seemed to have lowered a little.

“Thanks, France. You really shouldn’t be doing this.” Was all England could say as he took France’s hand in his. “I’ll do my best to help you out as soon as I feel better, I swear this to you. I will have your back, despite the Brexit and even after that.”

“Not so new beginnings, uhn?” France teased, glad to see England visibly better as the minutes passed by. “ _Plus ça change, plus c'est pareil_.”

“You are right.” England admitted, sighing as he realised how true his lover’s words were, especially in their case: ‘ _the more things change, the more they stay the same’_ could sound cliché to everyone else but, certainly, their whole life had just proven the saying true through every war they fought and every peace treaty they signed right after. “Luckily enough, too many people think that history is overrated.”

With a last smile to France, then, England eventually fell asleep once again, allowing his husband to take a proper look at him. Would France really manage to limit himself to just ruffle his lover’s feathers without ending up destroying England or even the both of them during the Brexit follow up? Would England be able to make his way back into the world panorama before it was too late to U-turn on Brexit? Would France survive Germany and convince him that his propositions were indeed for the best for everyone?

France could only sigh at the thought and then walked to his side of the bed, sitting with his back resting on the wooden board so that he could have a fair look at the plans he had been working on during their confinement. At that very moment, he didn’t even know if his own sovereigns would be willing to follow through what he was going to suggest… still, toppling the game did look like his only hope to attempt to play it.

Resting a hand on his bulging stomach he had to laugh at the irony of all this: one wrong move and the ones to suffer would be his family and particularly their docks on Calais and Dover. Still, if he didn’t do anything, the future of the two unborn children would be already over just like theirs would. 

Put the one you love in danger to save them… and everything was in the hands of the nation currently nursing the defenceless members of the family.

France and England weren’t unused to this, on the contrary, they had lived like this most of their life. At first, it had been something just between the two of them, a vain attempt to turn stronger with every war they fought against one another, lover against lover. Then it had become eldest son against father, to allow their child to grow. Then brother against brother, to temperate them. Parents against sons, to test them.

All of that ended after the Entente Cordiale was signed and their familial status became common knowledge to the rest of the world, but those were extremely recent events. Even more recent than that was France and England’s marriage. And even _more_ recent was England accepting his husband’s plea to partake in his pet project. This last one turned out to be such a recent event that it was already breaking, putting the life of children that had yet to be born on the frontlines.

Luckily, if a new era was really starting, no matter how it would change the current state of events, it would be nothing new for them. However, in order to prevent this new era from hurting them and their children, France had to make sure that they would still be the players that dealt the cards.

No matter what the price would be.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	8. Deconfinement

After the deconfinement, physically-wise both France and England felt much better.

On top of that, the biweekly check-ups could finally resume in Strasbourg, and they showed that the twins were growing fine and that France was in perfect health.

More problems arose the following month, though, when France found himself with the chance to go outside wherever he wanted despite showing in a way that couldn’t be hidden in any feasible way. Because of that, he decided that he could just keep working from home, and grudgingly resorted to go out dressed as a woman whenever he wanted fresh air or he had meetings that he couldn’t work out via computer-conference.

England had done his best to convince France that he really looked good dressed as a woman, and that therefore he could just accept the small restrictions imposed on him to keep doing what he wanted anyway, but it hadn’t gone as well as he had imagined. After more than an hour of yelling during which France had _accurately_ reminded him of _each and every_ time in their history England had told him that crossdressing was ridiculous, the English nation had given up.

Despite the colourful rejection that he had given England on the spot, eventually France did decide that his husband needed at least some kind of appreciation for his attempts at reassuring him about his good looks. This translated into finally granting the English nation the chance to accompany him whenever he had to go somewhere, something that his husband had desired and pleaded for since before the deconfinement, only for France to refuse him every time. If his politics led him more than once to be completely dependent on England, France had every intention to show to both himself and his lover that, at least in their personal matters, he could still do whatever he wanted.

The unexpected concession he had received also brought them, together with the English nation’s satisfaction, the impressive outcome of not having to leave England at home alone, considering he would then evoke spirits to follow France whenever he left on his own. This was something that England had been doing lately, in order to cope with his husband’s attempts at keeping himself independent and to reassure himself that France was safe and didn’t need anything in particular.

All things considered, France was glad that his pregnancy was an accident and that they normally reproduced by spawning, because no matter how much he adored his family, he wouldn’t have been able to survive England being this much overprotective every single time they fucked up around the world and ended up having children of their own. This was especially true for him, since it looked like _France_ was the nation deemed the most fertile of the two, whether they were talking about agriculture, magic, chance or –as the current events revealed– populistic politics as well. And all of this without counting what their preferences in bed were.

Despite all these hiccups, NATO, UN, world summits and even France’s own affairs were easily manageable to attend together, since England was pretty much _supposed_ to be there along with him, so his presence there at least didn’t need any preventive justification… until France hit his seventh month, and an urgent EU summit of nations was called in Brussel –because of France's not so friendly disagreements with Turkey despite the various European resolutions. That deserved quite a lot of thinking, in order to reach a deal that would be deemed acceptable by all the parties involved.

That was how, in the end, most of the European nations could only stare in shock as England entered the meeting room the European Parliament had reserved for them, side by side with a nation that could be no one else but France. The surprise at seeing England was mixed with quite a bit of worry and curiosity for the French nation since he looked almost like a completely different person, as tired and dishevelled as he was. The flowy and comfortable dress he was wearing didn’t help him look as sharp as he had always attempted to show himself, and this still was despite the clean shave and the very light and well done make-up he was sporting.

“England!!! You’re back!!” Italy couldn’t stop himself from yelling happily, as he rushed towards the island nation to hug him close.

England took his time to help France sitting at his seat, before he turned towards the younger nation to catch properly Italy's drive.

“I’m still not technically gone, honestly. I'm here just to help France, however, it’s been a bit difficult lately,” he explained kindly before turning his attentions to his overly irritated husband. “Will you be alright on your own until the end of the summit?”

“I don’t have any other choice, do I?” France countered annoyed, over-relaxing on his seat despite his evident discomfort. “I won’t survive three more months like this, though…”

“I don’t have to tell you that it will get only worse as it goes on, do I?” Spain took his chance to mock his friend, sitting on the table in front of France to grin evilly at him. “Already sleep deprived, uhn?”

“They keep moving and kicking, and I can’t neither sleep nor breathe! This is no pregnancy: this is torture!” France yelled back to his cousin, who laughed at his expense.

“Oooh! Is it really just that? And here I thought that you were just sex deprived~” Spain teased, earning France’s groan and England’s blush for his words.

“We are exploring our alternatives in that area, but not everything works like it is supposed to.” England admitted in an almost inaudible voice, looking away from both France and Spain. “France's situation is too specific even considering the unlimited resources of our fantasy _and_ the internet.”

“Not everything works?” Italy repeated innocently, rising an enquiring eyebrow to his more direct cousin.

“It’s easy to have sex, not so much to make love properly, especially considering what we like from one another and the fact that we have always used sex to steam off our politics.” France explained, sporting a bored pout as he searched behind himself for England’s hand to hold and to drag his husband closer. “The more satisfactory positions are so few that they become repetitive after a while. And they are only bound to decrease as these midgets grow bigger.”

Despite the annoyance clear in his voice, France let his other hand rest on his bulging stomach, as to reassure the children that everything was fine even though things were currently hard for their parents.

“Pregnancy killed your sex life.” Spain giggled, slapping his hand over his mouth to physically stop himself to keep irritating France and England. “I never really thought something like that would even be an option.”

“ _Va-t'en_ , Spain!” France growled in retaliation. “My neighbours can assure you that there’s not problem with–”

“France, that’s too much information!” England stopped his lover, heavily blushing while he attempted to calm down his husband through caring caresses over his shoulders.

“You are the one to talk!” France insisted however. “You always try to make me appear the perverted one, but you–”

“Pregnancy didn’t kill our sex life, it’s just hard working around the physical limitations of the situation,” England cut short once again France’s attempt at revenge. “It’s not just a pregnancy: a man is nursing the children, he’s at high risk of miscarriage if we forget the supplements even for a day and we’re having twins.”

“And he is France.” Romano bluntly added to England’s list of problems, earning his cousin rolling his eyes at him and the English nation’s resigned sigh.

“Well, among all of us France _really_ is the least likely to survive a difficult pregnancy with twins.” Holland admitted with a shrug.

“Yeah, patience, discipline and abnegation certainly aren’t something France is made for,” Sweden approved, nodding gravely in France’s direction only to unnerve the French nation even more.

“Well, but it’s not just that the problem, isn’t it?” Hungary offered, deciding to join the chatter despite the reprimands she had lately received from her own sovereign for being too friendly with her fellow nations. “I mean, if we look at the world panorama, the two fighting top-front are honestly more France and England than EU and UK right now.”

“Has it ever been any different, though?” Poland complained. “They have always been like this.”

“That’s true, but as enemies or as allies we’ve always seen them fighting during the day only to disappear together somewhere else during the night. Now it’s a stall on both sides,” Belgium pointed out before turning her attention to the married couple to stare worriedly at both of them, “I do wonder if the political disputes worsening for the outside world reflects your annoyance in the matter…”

“We are not even following his doctor’s orders word by word, otherwise France would have already snapped,” England admitted with a sigh, taking out a pillow from the bag he had with him to place it properly behind France’s back before staring at his watch. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

France pouted at the announcement and childishly attempted to keep England still glued to him a bit longer. His efforts earned him an adoring smile from his lover, before England bent over him to leave a kind kiss on his cheek as a silent request of forgiveness.

“I'll get you back as soon as you're finished.” He reassured his husband, brushing some strand of hair away from France’s eyes to move them behind his ear. “Try not to overwork yourself, alright?”

France tugged him once again towards him one last time in order to kiss him chastely on the lips; as they grudgingly separated, he offered his own goodbye to his husband and finally allowed him to exit the room in front of the astonished stares of the whole assembly. It was true that after their opulent wedding in France the Union had –unwillingly– gotten used to see the two frenemies actually loving and caring for one another, but seeing them so lovey-dovey at the apex of the Brexit derailing towards a no-deal was something that felt wrong regardless.

As England directed himself outside the meeting room, he was stopped by Germany, who had watched the whole scene from the entrance door in a mix of different feelings.

“Y- you could stay. I- if you wish.” The German nation stuttered in embarrassment, earning England’s grateful smile for it. “We don’t really have to tell your sovereigns that you are here.”

“I can’t stay, but thanks for the offer. I would have accepted it, if I could.” He answered sadly, showing his daily guest’s pass to Germany. “France got me a visitors’ pass but it would be a problem for him if I stayed here any longer.”

“I thought those passes were only for EU citizens?” Germany asked, staring confused at the pass only to have England showing him another document behind it that looked suspiciously like a French passport.

“Last year we requested one another’s citizenships, just to be safe,” England explained with a smart smirk. “You know, I hit the full score on everything they could ask me, be it French ancestry, marriage relationship or language proficiency. France will never admit it, but he got a full score as well when he applied for mine.”

“Wait, you mean that the French nation has an English citizenship and the English nation has a French citizenship?” Germany realised flabbergasted. “What’s even the point of a Brexit when you are behaving like this?”

“Well, yeah, let’s say that it was the easiest way out the impasse for us. France and I are still going to share everything we can after all, no matter how and when our governments settle the dispute,” England admitted, proceeding to walk past the German nation. He stopped himself before walking down the corridor, though, in order to face Germany once again, showing him an expression that sent shivers down the younger nation’s spine. “Oh, by the way Germany, may I ask you a favour?”

“O- of course!”

“If even one of the other EU countries thinks that with me gone they can touch even a single curl of France and his cousins’ hair, please, tell them that they took the current situation in a completely wrong way.” England threatened, sporting a kind smile that had nothing in common with the coldness of his voice. “Be a darling, will you?”

“E- England, you know–” Germany attempted to explain, only for England to cut short any attempt at conciliation he wanted to put in place.

“In the off chance that we don’t see one another before that day comes, happy 18th of June. Sweet anniversary, isn’t it?” he threatened, “France and I are planning to celebrate it wonderfully this year.”

That said –offering him the scariest smile Germany could imagine– England finally said his goodbyes to his fellow nation and proceeded to leave the European Parliament.

Maybe, Germany realised, it wasn’t France who had lost his inside man for the times he couldn’t participate at the EU meetings, but it was England who, despite the Brexit, was still managing to have _his_ inside man to the Union. It was a doubt that was becoming during any meeting more than a certainty as the weeks passed by, but until the two married nations started to deal the cards, it was hard to say if his interpretation of the events was true or who would end up losing in the end.

Eventually, despite Germany’s doubts and his general disappointment with France’s behaviour in foreign politics, the meeting proceeded smoothly. Even too smoothly, considering France’s peculiar way to tell the truth, but despite that it was still enough to make the German nation admit that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the whole Europe project without France –France who had obviously his own personal agenda and who, if Germany just considered him as a profitable member of the Union, despite his best efforts, was unquestionably functioning at only half-strength.

When later that day Germany found himself having to discuss the European Union’s latest resolutions together with England’s Prime Minister, however, he could only acknowledge that England had slashed his working hours no differently than what his husband had done. From what he could gather, probably even more so than France had done.

Whether France’s pregnancy was the reason or the excuse for both nations, Germany didn’t really know. All of this pointed to the fact that if France’s hidden agenda even existed, it had nothing to with the British government and had –most likely– everything to do with the two married nations. Unfortunately, what this would mean for them and the EU was honestly all in France’s hands.

* * *

Since the meeting had been held in Belgium this time, France and England took their chance to do a bit of sightseeing before returning home.

Despite their initial intentions, the tour quickly became strictly culinary, since France wanted to try some particular kind of chocolate, waffles and sweets Belgium had the misfortune to tell him about, while they were waiting for England to get France back from the meeting after it had ended.

England had complied with all of France’s requests in the end, but only in exchange of the promise that he would also eat something that included proteins and greens at some point. Shocked by the fact that it had been _England_ ordering him to eat vegetables this time, France had eventually accepted his proposition. They took their time to eat an early dinner, then, and soon after they finished they departed to Paris by car, much to England’s annoyance, since it meant driving three hours and a half at night. Everything had been his idea, though, so England had no one other than himself to blame for the current situation, especially since his husband had reassured him plenty of times that there weren’t any strikes planned that day.

When they had reached home, England was feeling completely knackered while his husband was –thanks to the nap he had taken during the drive back– quite full of energy and more than just a little famished. As England went to put on his pyjama, France disappeared in the kitchen, returning to their bedroom not much later with a small basket of strawberries.

“ _Fraises, mon cher_?” France offered England as he bit down on the juicy fruit in a way that made most of England’s blood run downwards despite his exhaustion.

“I’m too tired for this,” he groaned, letting himself to fall face flat on his pillow in defeat.

France could just grin at his husband’s frustration and sit next to him on the bed, offering to his lover one of the strawberries in the basket.

“Too tired to eat a strawberry, _Angleterre_?” France teased, earning England’s glare before the English nation actually sat up to accept France’s challenge. When he tried to bite down on the strawberry that France was offering him, though, his husband snatched it out of his reach at the last minute with a complicit smirk.

England followed the movements of France’s hand until he simply resorted to stare back into his eyes, to ask him silently what he had in mind. Only when he had his husband’s full attention on him, though, the French nation placed the strawberry right in front of his own still smiling lips, inviting England to eat something else together with the fruit.

Easily understanding what France was up to, England reciprocated France’s smirk and hungrily dived to bite down on the strawberry. After having successfully sunk his teeth into the juicy fruit, he didn’t even waste his time to swallow it before he went in to kiss France deeply, foregoing any pretence at innocence since his husband had been even too explicit about what he wanted.

As proof that England hadn’t been wrong, France reciprocated immediately. Even though this was precisely what he had searched for, however, France soon found himself whimpering slightly into the kiss and he had to plant both his hands firmly on the bed to sustain properly both his weight and England’s drive. Noticing France’s discomfort, England reached for both their pillows, without even bothering to interrupt the kiss, and piled them behind France’s back, so that he could rest securely on them.

Now that France was comfortably sitting up on their bed, England lost any qualms he had, and freely molested his husband to his heart’s content, something that France was even more willing to reciprocate through any means at his disposal. When he felt he had properly ravished his lover England let him go, only to meet France’s needy and desperate gaze. He allowed himself a chuckle as he noticed the slight worry in his lover's eyes, then, and simply sat back up in front of France’s now completely confused stare.

“I need to massage you with the bloody cream, France, if we start going at it before I do that, we will forget to do it.”

“This doesn’t explain you laughing at me, though.” France protested, however, crossing his arms on his chest. “Am I fun to look at?”

As an answer, England just laughed more at his expense, and quickly went to the bathroom to retrieve a new tube of cream. It didn’t take him much time to do the small chore and go back to his lover, the cream already spread on his hand so that he could quickly set aside the tube and focus on France.

“It’s not that,” England took his chance to explain as soon as he was all set. “I just remembered something stupid I read on Facebook today about pregnant women losing their sex drive while they are with child.”

“That’s bullshit: unless you are feeling really bad from morning sickness, cramps or pains, the increase in hormones is supposed to increase the need for sex!” France complained. “Moreover, I don’t think I ever gave you any reason to believe something this stupid, except those few times in late January.”

“You’re right, that’s why I didn’t like you talking about our sex life in front of the rest of the EU.” England admitted, as he finally finished undoing the buttons of France’s dress. “It made me feel like I had to justify our trouble with the situation, when in the end I still have a better score than they do in making my lover come and moan in pleasure.”

France chuckled at England’s irritation, and stole a quick peck from his pouting lips as he made him look in his eyes.

“I think that I can say that about myself as well, can’t I?” France teased, grinning back at his lover. “I’m sorry that my words bothered you, I just wanted them to realise that no matter their teasing and the practical problems we have to face, we still feel comfortable with one another and keep enjoying our intimacy like always.”

“They just wanted to tease us,” England protested, feeling quite relieved by his husband’s words nonetheless.

“It was bothering you, though,” France pointed out, rising a dubious eyebrow to his lover, “and it continued to bother you even after you left the meeting room. You don’t usually waste time reading up things on Facebook.”

“I had not much left to do while I waited for you, after I finished reading my newspapers,” England admitted meekly, as he finally started to coat France’s belly properly with the cream. “I forgot the embroidery I’m currently working on at home. I need to show it to you by the way. I wanted to turn the cloth I’m embroidering into a bed linen for one of the twins, and I thought you could do the design.”

“Nothing easier, _mon amour_ , but… I guessed you had work to catch up?” France countered, feeling surprised and just a bit guilty hearing that eventually England’s day had turned out completely unproductive just because he had allowed his husband to drive him to Brussels. He couldn’t deny that he liked England wanting to help him and stay at his side, but he had never thought that his strict husband would offer time that he didn’t have. “I’m sorry that I made you waste your time. I can help you tomorrow with–”

“I _could_ have done work, France, I _chose_ not to work,” England explained kindly as he kept massaging his lover’s belly, confusing France even more. “On my phone I have access to most of my e-mails and to all the documents that need revising, since they are sending me those via mail from London. I just didn’t feel like they were worth the bother.”

“I understand that you have problems with your government at the moment, but this is not really something nice for you to say.” France admitted without much enthusiasm.

“It’s not nice being lied to daily as well,” England countered, looking straight back into his lover’s eyes to show him clearly that, more than overworked by France’s needs, he was just completely angered with his sovereigns.

His stare melted into a much softer and caring one, though, as soon as he offered France a real adoring smile.

“What about you, though?” England asked, his voice sounding slightly worried. “Everything went well during the meeting?”

“Of course, everything went as predicted. I secured both our interests the best I could.” France answered him haughtily. “What? You thought that pregnancy would make me less good at my work?”

“I would never think that something could stop you from being anything less than war-aholic and manipulative, and you know it,” England countered warmly. As soon as he had finished his evening task, he took his chance to lie back down once again next to France, so that he could resume kissing him teasingly along his neck, as he held him tight against him. “This annoys me almost as much as I like it, do you realise it?”

“What about you, though?” France asked him quietly, despite already starting to feel small shivers of pleasure running down his spine at England’s ministrations. “Does my pregnancy stop you from doing your work and being anything less than deadly and self-destructive?”

“It’s not _your_ pregnancy, France. You are the one that carries the twins, but it’s a teamwork and I want to be here for you and for them.” England told him plainly, proceeding to get rid of France’s dress to have full access to his tempting collarbone and molest his husband to his heart content.

“But you are over-worrying yourself,” France complained, in a desperate attempt to properly play the part of the attentive husband even though England’s manhandling was already affecting him, to the point that he had to wonder why he should even try. “I could have waited for you, if you were busy doing something else. I could have gone to Brussels alone or–”

“Until I end up stopping you from doing things that you _want_ to do _and_ that you _can_ actually do, I don’t think it is a bad thing for me to change my priorities.” England attempted to put in clear words, staring seriously into France’s eyes. “My sovereigns have the right to decide what’s best for my country considering their interpretation of the vote; I have the right to put my family before their plans. If they are free to do what they want, then so am I.”

“ _Angleterre_...”

“It's alright, France, they can work this out by themselves. Moreover, taking care of our Strait of Dover is working for my country too, and I still _do_ some work every day. I do what’s needed, I just don’t want to lose my time on something that _I know for a fact_ is a lie.” England continued, resting his hand on France’s belly only to feel the babies moving under his touch.

Weeks had passed since that first day of May when he had woken up from his coma only to discover that a whole month had gone by and that their children weren’t just a mere idea anymore, or something immaterial that had caused France’s sickness. Every time he felt proof of their growth, England was awash with so many emotions he couldn’t keep track of them all. Elation was a given, because they were his and France’s babies. And then there was guilt, because they were causing too many inconveniences that France had not signed up for when they had started their relationship. Then love, fear that he wouldn’t be a proper partner for his lover, annoyance because _he knew_ that he wouldn’t be a good father to these new children–

“They are not a lie, uhn?” France asked England eventually, dragging his lover away from his slow derailing towards sheer panic.

“What?”

“You seemed lost in thought…” France explained, joining his hand with the one England was still keeping on his bulging stomach. “I just wanted to reassure you that, if it’s lies what you are currently fearing, you will find none here. Nothing that will hurt you, at least.”

“Thank you, France.” England offered him, unexpectedly feeling reassured by France’s words.

“I’m sure they are currently putting up a show to tell you the same thing. Obviously, in their own way.” France teased England, as he winced in pain as the children apparently attempted to give their own message to him as well.

“They are quite a lot of work, aren't they?” England sighed, observing with worry France’s discomfort and caressing his belly in a vain hope to calm them down. “You _need_ support. It’s not just a matter of my personal feelings on the matter: the French nation can’t go on maternity leave, for the sake of both France and England. No matter what the deal will be in the end, we need you.”

“You are right,” France admitted grimacing as one of the twins kicked him harder than before and he nestled closer to England in search of comfort, “but I’ll make it through, don’t worry. I’m an old nation, _Angleterre_ , I know all the tricks of the job.”

“I just hoped that I could be more helpful…”

“You are enough already, _mon cher_.” France reassured him with a happy smile, relaxing more in his lover’s embrace. “By the way, this morning I got news from my government about the living arrangements: we don’t really need to move, thanks God.”

“Don’t we?” England asked surprised by both the news and the change of topic. “Then how did they solve the problem?”

“My sovereigns bought the apartment above this for us.” France explained, resuming massaging his stomach once again to quieten down the children that appeared to be as awake as he was. “They should confirm the acquisition before the end of the next week and then discuss with us a proposal to merge it effectively to this one.”

“I thought that we could move the offices and the older kids’ rooms upstairs and leave downstairs Sealand and the twins’ rooms together with our bedroom, kitchen, dining room and some free space to use as we need it.” France then continued, turning slightly into his lover’s arms to stare better up at England. “But it’s really something we should discuss together when they will bring us the plan: we might have to give up space downstairs to make room for the stairs.”

“How come your government was so keen in finding a solution?” England asked however, rising a curious bushy eyebrow to France. “They were as unwilling to change things as you were.”

“Well, I gave my sovereigns an earful after the American gala and I offered them my plan to capitalise on Brexit and on the current European mood free of charge.” France explained, before offering an evil grin to his husband. “That, and I told them that your house in London was big enough for the whole family, so I could have just moved there indefinitely to reduce our expenses. Somehow, the day after they were already in contact with the owner to arrange the acquisition.”

England laughed at France’s genius and cuddled him closer, before leaving an adoring kiss on the top of his head.

“I adore how evil you can be, you know France?” England confessed. “You are right though, I don’t think we are going to have many problems at my place, except maybe some baby proofing.”

“Hell, I only thought about the lack of space! We might need to think about the baby proofing here as well…” France realised, starting to think only then at how safe he could consider his own furniture. How did you deemed a furniture safe in the first place?

“Don’t worry much about it, France. I don’t think you will have too many things to do here: your antiquaries have all smooth edges, luckily enough. We should have someone to put their hands on our home in London, though. The more I think about it, the more I fear the easiest way out of this is simply refurnishing the whole house.” England confessed to France, before he actually reminded himself what London entailed. “Fuck it. Now that I think about it, after the twins are born I won’t have any more chances to keep refusing to go back home… It will be hell, especially considering my brothers’ annoyance about the Brexit.”

“How are things with them?”

“Politically speaking, they could kill me in my sleep. Scotland said that Wales drank himself to a coma when your rugby team won against mine the Sunday after the final deadline,” England revealed with not a small amount of discomfort, “personally, however, they are not too harsh. I talk with them regularly on the phone and they sound happy about the twins. So much that I even expect them to be ready to help us with the baby proofing or to keep an eye on the children after they are born, if we were to ask them.”

“We might honestly need that, because we can’t deal with these ones like we did with America and Canada…” France realised sadly, staring down to the hand England was still using to caress his bulging stomach. “Not at the beginning at least.”

“We will have to work around it like we are doing with everything else, but it’s not the end of the world unless _we_ are the ones making it happen.” England concluded with a last firm kiss on France’s lips. “We’ll make it through, France. I’m really happy that we are in this together.”

“Yeah, me too~” France agreed, capturing his lover’s lips with his as he dragged him down over him to start working on England’s night attire. “Mind to show me how much you like being in this mess together with me?”

“With pleasure~” Was the only thing England managed to say, before he happily resumed the manhandling of his lover he had interrupted in the derailing of their discussion.

It was true what they had said to the other European nations, things for the two of them weren’t easy, whether they were talking about their political relationship or their personal life, but as long as they were shouldering everything together, both France and England couldn’t be any happier with their life at the moment.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	9. Renovations and Baby Showers

As promised, it took a few days for France and England to receive the plans for the enlargement of the apartment, and then they called their whole family –except for America – back to Paris.

The harsh decision to count him out had grudgingly been made since, considering the derailing of the sanitary situation in the US, having America cross over the Atlantic to come to Europe was deemed safe for the health of none of the parties involved. Eventually, though, they all decided to allow the American to offer his opinions via conference call, so not to exclude him completely from the family reunion France had been expecting as if his life depended on it.

In truth, England believed that it would have been safer if they held the meeting online for all of their children, but both Canada and Seychelles had contested the decision with every means at their disposal. After all the familial turmoil they'd had to go through every time they'd simply pointed out to their French father the obvious, none of them honestly believed that France would be willing to do something as innovative as to change even one single chandelier inside his home.

France had eventually taken advantage of his children’s stubbornness and had pleaded England for the chance to have finally his family back at his place since, between the pandemic and the mess that was going on in Europe, they’d had no chance to see their kids in months. The halfway solution wasn’t really what everyone preferred, but since they _only_ had to decide the new arrangements in Paris and London, England had persuaded the rest of his family that they could just be grateful of his concessions and live with it.

It was then with varying degrees of dissatisfaction that the whole family reunited around the plans for the renewal to actually discuss what to keep and what to move. Despite it being something quite easy to do in theory, when it had been time to put his plan into action England couldn’t but feel glad that his children had insisted to be there in person.

“France, I love you…” England finally blurted out, after hours of suggestions about the renovations for the Paris apartment that France had accepted in stride, sporting the attitude of someone being tortured.

“But?” France asked him suspiciously, glancing doubtfully towards his husband.

“But nothing. I was just reminding myself.”

“Why now!?” France countered, annoyed by England’s manners. “I’m on my best behaviour here!”

“I know,” England acknowledged, “and it’s plainly weird.”

“Dad, I think things are going fine.” Seychelles butted in, not really understanding what her English father’s point was.

“That’s the real problem, it’s going _too_ well,” England pointed out, halting his speech to massage his temples and fight off the migraine that his anxiety was bringing him, before looking back at his husband. “You even put up a fight to buy a smartphone, last year. It seems impossible to me that you are honestly fine with everything we are talking about. It’s unreal.”

“Are you saying that you are loving me less because I’m playing the responsible nation?” France asked, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t love you less, but I want to know what’s on your mind.” England challenged France, earning only a sigh from his lover as an answer. “The fact that I can’t figure the reason behind your actions is driving me crazy.”

France just stared back at his lover and sighed deeply, realising that time had come to reveal to his family a tiny bit of what had been crossing his mind since the beginning of the transition year.

“The time you were unconscious made me think about the future.” France’s voice was quiet. “I’ve always attempted to keep things the way they were, because it made me feel safe, but I realised that _feeling_ safe and _being_ safe are not really the same thing. If I don’t move along with the events happening around me, it doesn’t mean that they will just stop and disappear because I don’t do anything.”

“Mom?” Canada and Seychelles asked together, both quite surprised by France’s words.

“One can’t always work around the edges. If a thing barely works, maybe something bright new in its place will function better. It might be scary at the beginning, but it’s not like I will be alone in that.” France continued, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that he wasn’t just talking about the furniture of his apartment. “I’ve decided that I can try to move along with what’s happening and accept some changes. This might give me the chance to decide things on my own, instead of allowing other people the chance to decide in my place.”

“France, are you–” England halted willingly his speech the moment France’s eyes turned to look towards him with a serious gaze that made the answer England was searching for quite clear, even without any further explanation.

“It’s almost like you are talking about a divorce, you know mom?” America’s voice came from the laptop they had placed between France and Canada, sounding quite unsure to every nation in his family.

“It’s nothing like this, America, don’t worry.” France was quick to reassure his son, laughing heartedly at the misunderstanding.

France’s explanation had been unnecessary for England, but had been obviously needed by Canada, Seychelles and Sealand as well, since all the three of them clearly heaved a deep breath in relief after hearing his words.

Seeing their children quite shaken by what France had been talking about, England took his chance to drag Sealand in his lap so that he could move closer to Seychelles, drag her in his embrace, and comfort her. At the same time, France pulled in his arms Canada and left a soft kiss on his temple before staring back to the laptop.

“We’ll comfort you as soon as you can come here, don’t worry America.” France added for his far away son, the first who’d had to courage to express aloud his apprehension. “Both your mom and dad owe you a big hug.”

“You two are just mean, making us worry with half words only you old men are able to understand~” America countered at France’s reassurance, pouting and crossing his arms on his chest at the feeling of remaining even more left out the familiar reunion than he already was.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” France said merrily, still laughing at his children’s disapproving stares on him. “I didn’t mean to make you worry~”

“What did you mean then?” Canada quietly asked then, taking his chance to hide his face against France’s shoulders.

“That he has accepted the failing of the European Union as it is.” England answered his children, earning surprised stares from all the younger nations. “And that we are all probably going to deal with the worst of the French Empire during the following years.”

“I don’t really need to have an Empire, properly speaking, but if my home becomes more comfortable, it will be nicer for us and our family to live inside, won’t it? It will be more comfortable for us to share it as well.” France offered kindly. “I might pretend that we don’t have a problem, but if I don’t acknowledge its existence, I would never have the chance to win, won’t I?”

“It doesn’t look any news to dad, though.” Canada noted, seeing how the actual explanation had come from England and not from France.

“Because we have been dealing with this together from some time now,” England explained. “Besides, I needed to come to terms with Brexit and what caused it as well. It’s what all these renovations are about, after all.”

“Dad, we love you, but you had four years and a half to come to terms with Brexit.” Seychelles chose to point out, reproachfully.

“Mom and dad both with the European Union as well,” Canada added to his sister’s argument, eliciting a soft sigh from both their parents.

“It’s not like the Brexit was something only your father had to deal with.” France admitted, his voice slightly cracking. “I hoped that if I pretended that the referendum never happened, there was no chance that his sovereigns could take England away from me. If I had given it more credit, maybe I might have been able to change things…”

“No one is taking me away from you, France.” England reassured his husband, moving Sealand closer to Seychelles in order to place a caring hand on France’s shoulder. “I will still be here at your side, like I’ve always been. And one day, we’ll be involved again together in another European project, whether it will be a new project or a reprise of this one. A project that will add to everything else we never stopped sharing. It’s what we are working on right now, after all: rearrange things inside of us, so that the next time the outcome will be different.”

“I think–” France confessed, hiding his face into Canada’s blond mane “–that during these four years, I was just hoping for a miracle to happen…”

“We both probably hoped for a miracle, before this damned year began.” England pointed out, taking his chance to look around himself at France’s apartment, an apartment that soon would completely change its appearance, whether they were ready to accept it or not.

He would certainly miss it, but he wasn’t really losing anything more than the scenery of the memories he had shared with France inside those walls. If England had to be honest about it, France’s apartment had always remained France’s apartment properly speaking. It was an apartment his lover had personally bought for what was their family after the Restauration: three children already old enough to have their own room, and a partner that was more a guest and a rival than someone who would reside inside the apartment long enough to feel the desire to bring his own personality to it.

England’s house in London wasn’t any different, either. As soon as he felt the need to have his own mansion, England had specifically built it as big as he could, in order to properly house all his colonies and his entire family; afterwards, as the world changed around him, _nothing_ had changed inside his house. Even when his so-called little brothers had started to move out one by one, he had never really felt the need to renovate much, since he had enough space at his disposal to just leave abandoned rooms closed and use new ones whenever needed.

Not even his family had ever been involved in radical changes. His brothers had kept using their usual rooms whenever they didn’t stay at their own place; his kids had simply continued to sleep in the rooms he had given them during the time they were his colonies whenever they stayed in London. France, on the other hand, had merely moved in his house at the same conditions England had moved in the Paris apartment.

England had made room for him in his closet no differently than what France had done at his place for him, but they had never really reorganised anything, not even after they had begun to properly live together. This was probably why they had always remained the same despite the EU. The new children had been a quite harsh wake up for the both of them, showing them that, if France and England kept on as they had always done, they weren’t going to make it out of this mess: France would die and England would lose himself.

Brexit was real, as much as the changes in the world they lived in and in the projects they were sharing.

If they were to govern the new situation, proper changes needed to be made. England couldn’t just limit himself to help France get by, he had to give a new home to what they had broken with their egoism and their unwillingness to change when they’d had the chance.

A new home for themselves and their whole family.

“We could always make these renovations be the miracle we were waiting for,” France told England eventually, offering him his hand so that England could grab it in a silent gesture of support. England accepted France’s invitation and smiled back at him, breaking the last bit of tension that had dawned over the family reunion.

“Let’s do it together, then, shall we?” England told his family then, letting Seychelles go and fixing Sealand better on his lap while France freed Canada and moved the both of them closer to England, dragging together with him also the laptop from which the poor American nation was still sulking in solitude.

After they were all set once again, they returned to what they thought would look better and where with even more enthusiasm than before. Once they had all finished discussing changes at France’s apartment, England put also on the table the plans to rearrange his house in London as well. If at the beginning he had just thought about a simple baby proofing, when he actually confronted himself with his family he discovered that there was much more that he could do in his house. What surprised him the most was that he actually wanted to follow through with his family’s suggestions.

By the end of the day, they agreed on a feasible renovation plan for both the London mansion and the Paris apartment. When everything was ready, France contacted his government to send in the structural drafts of his new home, while England finalised the payments for the new sets of furniture and arranged for it to be delivered to their houses. Despite how taxing this ended up being for their personal accounts, eventually they both resolved that they were fairly satisfied with the results.

Since it was the renovation that implied the least work and hassle, England gave the ok to start refurnishing the London mansion while they waited to know how much time it would take to settle the things back in Paris and when the renovations would start. This was deemed the most reasonable choice by both nations, since it allowed them to have at least one fully prepared house ready, whether it would be needed for the time they had to move out from the apartment in Paris to allow the structural renovations or for when the children were already born. 

Much to France’s disappointment, however, not long after Scotland and Wales had announced that the house in London was ready, France’s sovereigns contacted their nation with dates and estimated time for the makeover of his apartment in Paris.

Despite everyone had assured him that two weeks were the least he could ask to any construction firm, France didn’t like the idea of moving to London with so little warning while being pregnant and, unsurprisingly, neither did his doctor, since the English parenthesis would have delayed France’s bi-weekly check up on the twins.

The two Frenchmen, however, weren’t the only two people that had wished for their government to be late on something on which they had a vested interest. Truth was that, considering that inside his mansion in London there were currently his three brothers waiting for him, the one who honestly was the least willing to go back home was no one else than the English nation.

England had no better luck than the two Frenchmen in delaying the renovation in Paris, though, and this was why, as soon as his own sovereigns lifted the fourteen days of quarantine for whoever came from abroad at the beginning of July, England found himself at a loss of excuses to delay his coming back home.

The three of them could only capitulate, then, and accept the harsh reality, reality that included the fact that the two nations couldn’t stay in the Paris apartment during the needed renovations as well as the fact that they honestly owned a functional house in London. France and England, then, moved to the English mansion at the beginning of July, right in time to get a front bench for the latest attempts of the EU delegation to reach a trade deal with England’s Prime Minister.

There was no real development on the matter during those days, but they had to admit that it had been quite fun to look at, especially considering Barnier’s calm sassiness against the English. They had wanted to join the quarrel, truth be told, but both their governments had forbidden them to intrude: France’s sovereigns in order to protect their nation’s health, and England’s to attempt to forget that, no matter how hard they were trying to cut themselves away from Europe, their nation had absolutely no intention to follow through with their plan.

The two nations got back in Paris after the second week of July, then, despite England’s attempts to convince France that spending the hottest months in the United Kingdom might have been a smarter idea. This because of the cooler weather, but also because it was probably the last summer when he could honestly call his domain _United_ , since the only reason preventing Scotland and Northern Ireland from killing him in his sleep was his pregnant husband’s presence at his side. What worried England the most was that, because of the whole management of the Covid crisis, Wales had also become more than just mildly annoyed at him.

Still, England would have endured their death threats if it meant allowing France to spend the worst of the summer in a nicer weather. France had pointed out that fans and air conditioners existed for a reason, however, therefore England had decided to give up before his husband started –once again- on ‘ _the deplorable state of England’s NHS_ ’.

England knew that his husband was perfectly conscious that he was showing himself excessively dramatic on the matter, and that he was doing so only to have a reason not to risk having a child there. Still, France’s continuous rants over his health system were getting on his nerves and he had no real way to tell him off at the moment. Luckily, at this point he had only less than two more months to wait.

The weather was turning hotter and hotter in France, though, and the fact that France was at a point in which he would have been uncomfortable even at a milder temperature didn’t really help.

To heighten both of his parents’ spirits though, America –after having somehow gotten exceptional clearance to set foot in France after fourteen days of quarantine and having been thoroughly showered in disinfectant– took on himself and on his husband the duty to arrange a baby shower for his French father. Despite the relief to finally have the chance to hug his son once again, the idea of shouldering a baby shower caused France to feel quite weirded out by the whole thing.

Despite France’s attempts to make America understand that he neither wanted nor needed one, however, his son moved forward with his idea, including in the planning Canada as well as the rest of the Commonwealth and most of France’s _former_ colonies and overseas territories. He left up to England to try to explain to France what a baby shower was and why they had thought up such a tradition, though, something that translated in France and England not talking about the baby shower at all in mutual agreement.

Desperate to escape the party, France complained that the tradition had nothing to do with either France or England but, in front of his children’s lack of understanding about why this would be a reason to not have a baby shower, he ended up capitulating. That meant that, by the end of July, America had gone so overboard with his planning that he had managed to include in the event also the rest of the world, whether they cared about the baby shower or not.

All the chaos that was about to dawn on them had eventually spurred England to find a containment plan since, remembering how much he had suffered during his own wedding with France, he finally decided to put an end to the preparations and forbade everything America had planned. He then convinced him and his consort to restrict the event to only the close family, since it was already too large as it was, all the while damning himself for having a son that looked like his mother in _everything_ , especially when there was the chance to go overboard on something.

Despite the not so hidden insult against both America and himself, however, France decided to properly reward England’s practical approach to tackle down the situation that same night, glad that his husband had reduced the entity of the damage.

At the end of July the whole family met up at the renovated apartment in Paris, redecorated for the occasion with plenty of pastel rainbow garlands and balloons. The arrangements had eventually been just like America and Japan had imagined them in their less theatrical version, yet what they couldn’t enforce was having France properly enjoy the party.

“You know, mom, you made it quite difficult to arrange the baby shower for you~” America took his chance to complain while they were all reunited in the living room. “We still don’t even know if the twins are going to be boys or girls or one each!”

“Why would _you_ want to know? It’s not like knowing the sex will change anything,” France countered annoyed, taking up to himself to start on the food Canada, Seychelles, Monaco, Cuba and Japan had prepared for the party.

“Well, it would have made it easier to find suitable gifts for once! None of us could buy clothes for the twins, because we didn’t know what they were!” America countered, draining a whole glass of cola in a single sip. “Usually, that’s the easiest gift!”

“That’s why I told you that you should have just waited for the children to be born!” France complained, still at a loss about understanding the meaning of the whole charade.

“Then it would not be a baby shower, though.” Japan pointed out discretely.

“Get whatever clothes of whatever colour, then. Everything is fine no matter what comes out, you can’t get measures wrong!” France suggested, then, attempting to have the other nations understanding his point. “And I still don’t understand _why_ these showers must be done _before_ the child is born. Give the mother solace after they are exhausted but certain they have delivered a healthy child, not bother them when going outside means getting roasted. And we are barely in July…”

“I told you we should have stayed in London…” England took _his_ chance to complain, sipping resignedly a glass of juice.

“And I told _you_ I won’t risk needing your NHS.” France countered. “I bet that the first thing they would do as soon as I set foot inside the hospital is ask me to pay to know the gender of the twins, despite my personal opinion on the matter. And then they will dress up me and the bloody room accordingly… by the way, what’s with this frustration to have all the boys dressed in baby blue and all the girls dressed in pink frills??”

“ _My NHS_ is nothing like that, and about pink frills: _you_ are the one to talk!! You _do_ have a pink dress full of ribbons and trimmings!!” England protested, before starting to munch on a slice of pizza to prevent himself to strangle his husband. “You know, France, I sometimes think that your cultural gap is not just a normal one between adult nations, but something that places you against the rest of humanity and common sense.”

“Why are you complaining?” France snapped back, pouting at England’s desperate attempt to contain himself during a healthy dispute. “Baby showers are not even _your_ tradition to begin with: you got that from Canada and America!”

“I was talking about your lack of bother about gender. It’s not even a political statement: you just don’t _understand_ what we are talking about. And to think that these children are probably going to be dependent on us for everything much more than Canada and America when they were little…” England realised all of sudden, swallowing in dread at the prospect of their future. “Gods, poor kids…”

“Well, some unisex clothes exist, though.” Japan butted inside the argument, hoping to put an end to England and France’s quarrel before they ended up at one another’s throats despite the pregnancy. “France is right, if we really wanted to get the twins some clothes for the baby shower, we could have just brought some of those and they would be fine, even though we didn’t know what they were.”

“Yeah, in my stores unisex clothes for children are quite the hit!” Canada quickly came to Japan’s rescue, glad to have the chance to help interrupting the dispute. “They are not doing bad in America either~”

“It still is unfair, though~” America whined at his French father, however, missing completely his husband and his brother’s intention to change topic of the debate. “You vetoed the games, refused to do a gender-reveal party, decided to keep this a restricted event… Basically, you left to us only the food and the few possible gifts! You’re really no fun at all, mom~”

“I won’t say no to the chance to have my kids at my place, but everything you proposed was mental from my point of view!” France protested with a pout. “And restricting the invites to the close family was your father’s idea.”

“ _Bother_ married with _Annoyance_.” America stated, glaring at both his parents before harassing once again his French father. “Guessing the size of the belly sounded like fun to me!”

“It doesn’t sound fun having people telling me how fat I have gotten, America!” France yelled back at him, blushing scarlet as he instinctively hugged his by now overly large belly in a defensive manner. “I wonder why women submit to this shaming!”

“I think it’s a way to deal with the changes to their bodies and to bond with family and friends over the new child.” Japan guessed kindly, hoping to offer a reasonable explanation. “I’m sorry, but a baby shower honestly sounded something fun to do to me as well, even though it’s not really in my cultural background.”

“Yeah, mum, you are a bit too extreme.” Seychelles admitted, serving herself and Monaco something to drink. “It’s just a party! Accept your children doing something for you even if you don’t understand the point of it. You might like the party anyway!”

France watched attentively his daughter and then his own sister, who was nodding politely to her wife’s sensible approach. He sighed, then, and turned his stare on the still annoyed America, before noticing Japan, Canada and Cuba’s uncertain expressions and Sealand’s disappointed one.

“Let’s do those games then, I’m sure you guys had arranged for some of them anyway.” He accepted then, devouring a slice of cake whole to cheer himself up after the small concession he had granted to his family.

The whole family –except England and France– erupted in cheers at the announcement, though America’s enthusiasm and the rest of the family’s relief visibly waned as soon as they began suggesting games only to have France rejecting each and every proposal they made.

“France, love, you are not really helping.” England took his chance to point out, despite his better judgement.

“It would be helpful if the games weren’t this stupid.”

“It’s not stupid having a diapers changing challenge!” America whined dramatically, particularly disappointed by the last game proposal that had fallen under his French father’s rejection.

“ _It is,_ considering that I changed nappies to all the people present in this room except Cuba and Japan!” France responded haughtily.

Silence followed the French nation’s statement, and slowly everyone’s stares turned towards England, who could only stare back confused at his family as he stopped drinking his glass of juice.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How come you weren’t counted out?” Cuba was the only one who dared to ask, despite fighting with himself not to laugh plainly at the English nation, who could only blush a deep shade of scarlet at the blunt question.

“I- I… France and I met as children!! It- it’s not like it e-ever happened after that… I’m not into those kind of things!!” England protested heatedly, heavily stuttering in plain embarrassment as he pointed accusatorily to his husband. “I was a baby and _he_ was always there!!”

“Dad, you know,” Canada offered as kindly as he could, despite covering his awkward smile with his hand. “You are not really convincing.”

“B- but that’s true!” England yelled back, then, before staring with pleading eyes at his husband. “France!! Help me out here!!”

France chuckled at England’s distress and then moved closer to leave a kind kiss on his cheek, only to earn a scowl from the irate gentleman.

“England is right.” France explained in England’s favour, still staring adoringly in his husband’s green eyes. “I remember that the first time we met he didn’t even have nappies on so, along with some clothes and something good to eat, I brought back to England also some cotton nappies when I went to meet him again. Aunt Italia was making plenty of those for South Italy, who was a new-born as well at the time, so she kindly let me bring a couple of those to the island for him.”

“Cotton diapers, you mean?” America asked, sounding extremely surprised by the tale.

“Yeah, they are triangles made of cotton that you can wash and use again. England wasn’t wearing any when we met and he had no one to help him with his basic necessities, that’s how I became the one that kept changing his nappies.” France explained then, smiling softly at the memory. “I was a child myself at the time, but I had the means and I liked taking care of England.”

“Why did you have to do that, though? Didn’t they have nappies in England at the time?” Seychelles asked, unsure of why France’s help would be necessary in the first place.

“I guess it was just aunt Britannia that never bothered to make him wear nappies.” France admitted with a weak grin. “When I had to go back home, I left his brothers in charge to change his nappies in my place in exchange of something nice from the continent~ they were much easier to convince than aunt Britannia.”

“Poor dad, you must have had it rough when you were a child…” Canada noted, only to earn England just lowering his head enough that his fringe covered completely his eyes, in order to hide his complete embarrassment at the tale.

“He was a most adorable child that became a most adorable man~” France chirped merrily, hugging close to him his husband to cheer him up. “Like you all, though.”

After France’s confession, it was the time for all the other nations –except for Cuba and Japan– to blush scarlet at the tease, making the French nation smirk happily at their complete embarrassment.

“With you all it was short lived, though, everyone was soon quite independent nappy-wise…” France admitted, however, before starting to caress worriedly his bulging stomach as he sighed deeply. “America was right to ask that at the very beginning: how will they grow up?”

“Theoretically, they should evolve with your political relations concerning the Strait of Dover, shouldn’t they?” Japan offered, despite not really understanding how France’s mind had wandered from nappies to the children’s development.

“What if they won’t evolve? Will we be changing them nappies forever?” France asked again then, his eyes still fixed on the hand caressing his stomach in order to reassure more himself than the children by that point.

“They _are_ growing, though.” Cuba pointed out eventually, after a long minute of silence.

“What do you mean?” France asked him, too worried even to dare being hopeful.

“Something entirely political happened and you found yourself pregnant, alright, but currently you don’t have an embryo eternally frozen at week one.” He continued to explain then. “It might seem to you that your politics are not progressing, but they probably do, even though you don’t notice it, allowing you to have a regular pregnancy.”

“Moreover, you are nations, so the children _must_ be like us.” Cuba continued his reasoning. “And if your pregnancy is currently progressing like any normal pregnancy would, I don’t see why their growth can’t follow the same pattern. They will just probably stop growing at a certain point the same way it happened with Sealand. And then, well, it will all be history, one day.”

“Probably, but we are not sure.” England opposed to Cuba’s analysis, encircling France’s shoulders with his arm to give him comfort and remind to his husband that he was not alone with his worries. “Nothing says that they _must be_ nations only because _we_ are: nations are not ‘ _delivered’_ by another nation. They could even turn out to be humans and...”

England couldn’t find enough strength in himself to continue, and instead just held France even closer to him, his forehead brushing slightly against his husband’s temple.

“What would it mean, if they weren’t nations?” Sealand dared to ask eventually, not really understanding how the mood had so suddenly dampened.

“They wouldn’t survive more than a century, Sealand.” Seychelles explained kindly, dragging her little brother in her arms to cuddle him close.

“Cuba is right, there’s no chance that they aren’t nations!” Canada attempted to protest weakly, having no intention to consider the option even for a split second.

“Well, it would be hard to believe, but not entirely impossible…” Monaco admitted quietly, “like this pregnancy, after all.”

“You will know which one they are as soon as they are born, though,” Japan pointed out, before staring straight into England’s eyes. Some sort of communication passed between the two island nations, communication that ended with England just shaking his head at his friend.

“France doesn’t want to know the sex of the twins, if I do _that_ it will give up the sex as well.” England explained to Japan, only to receive a confused stare from all the other occupants of the room.

“You think,” France asked unsurely, as he turned to stare at his husband, “that you could tell what they are with magic?”

“I can’t _predict_ it, strictly speaking, but I can show you how the children will grow up.” England admitted. “Would you want to see it?”

“I- I don’t really know…” France confessed, as he stared once again to his belly, willing and at the same time unwilling to accept the offer.

“Why wouldn’t you want to know, if it worries you this much?” Sealand asked innocently, pouting towards his French father from the safety of his sister’s embrace.

“You fear that seeing them would make them real.” Monaco was the first one to realise, staring worriedly at her own brother. “ _This_ is why you don’t want to play any of the games America is proposing for the party and why you are _so much_ against the baby shower! It’s because it reminds you that, at a certain point, all of this will end and you will have to care for two children that will probably be nothing like any of us, no matter what they are.”

“You’ve acted like a mother for each of us since when you were a child,” Monaco sighed, “how come you are so scared only with these last ones?”

France lowered his head in defeat at his sister’s crystal-clear analysis.

“Because we don’t _reproduce_ like this,” France answered, willingly repeating those first words they all had thought as soon as they had learned about the pregnancy at the very beginning. “We don’t really know what will happen, everything is new and unknown to everyone at the moment. Besides, when they will be born Brexit will be final and I don’t really know if–”

“Then let us know some of it, France.” England interrupted his lover before he could spiral down his hole of anxiety. “My magic might not tell you everything you want to know, but it will certainly show us more than what we know now.” He offered France both of his hands face-up before continuing, “trust us.”

After a moment of hesitation France took a deep breath and nodded, then he rested his hands over England’s. Soon a violet aura of magic enveloped both of them and England began chanting something at such low volume that he was barely audible to France himself, even while standing so close to one another.

A few seconds passed by and then the aura surrounding them swirled in circles and coalesced between them, forming a pale mirror of sorts, inside which they could see a figure taking form.

France instinctively shut close his eyes in fear, too scared to confront himself with reality now that he had the chance to know something more about the children he had been nursing for more than thirty-three weeks. As soon as he heard the whispers of awe from the rest of his family, though, he dared to open a single eye to take a peek at what was happening around him.

The first thing he noticed were England’s green eyes, staring adoringly back at him, and his soft smile. France’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, and soon after a reassuring warmth began spreading from England through their still joined hands. Comforted by his husband’s attitude, France finally moved his gaze up to watch properly the image inside the mirror of magic, and couldn’t help but smile at what he was seeing, no differently than England had done.

Inside the circle of violet smoke, two girls who seemed slightly older than Sealand were sleeping shoulder to shoulder, their long hair flowing gently over their young bodies to cover most of it in a cascade of blond curls. They were beautiful, just like France had predicted, but the only thing that mattered to the French nation, the one thing he had been desperate to know, was that they both looked alright and in perfect health.

Being used to meet his children when they were already born, this feeling of relief was something that caught France completely off guard, even though it made complete sense considering the situation. England had been right: there were still many things that just looking at them in a mirror wouldn’t tell them, but for now this much was certainly what France had needed to know the most, in order to get through the remaining weeks of pregnancy without having a nervous breakdown.

“We are having two baby girls, _Angleterre_.” France managed to say to his husband, eventually, his voice almost breaking by the overwhelming emotion.

“Two female child nations, France.” England agreed with a small voice, finding it difficult not to cry or stop smiling at the scene no differently than France. “Dover looks like she is the rascal of the two, I bet it’s my fault there.”

“I’m sure that Calais will be as much of a handful, though.” France countered, before both parents ended up laughing in sheer relief, after having finally gotten the reassurance that the twins would be fine in the end.

As soon as their hands stopped touching, the image dispersed in violet smoke, and France and England automatically gravitated in one another’s arms, both of them suddenly feeling in desperate need for contact.

“If nothing else, we can say that this has been a gender-reveal shower party~” America attempted to lighten up the mood after the overload of feelings.

“And I was right about having sisters!” Seychelles added cheerfully, attempting to support her brother’s efforts into bringing everyone back to the party mood.

Soon, all the others followed the two siblings lead, everyone with their own thought on the matter - among which there was particularly America’s bragging about having been right about Canada being shit at betting. Apparently, seeing all the family so willing to celebrate the new children and the news was enough to bring also France and England into the proper mind set to survive the despicable baby shower. Amongst laughter and cheers, then, the party could finally resume the way America and Japan had organised it.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	10. Farewell Strasbourg

Some days later, when they went to their usual check-up in Strasbourg, France had to confess to his obstetrician that he wouldn’t be able to survive the same trip in two weeks, and he could imagine himself delivering at two hours by train and five by car from his apartment even less.

The admission brought France to quarrel with the doctor, who eventually suggested him to just get a room in a hotel near the hospital, the same way many other people did as the due date approached.

Hearing the proposition, France then focussed his outrage against his own sovereigns and ended up yelling at them on the phone, demanding to know why they had never told him about those kind of problems with his hospitals and why they had never done a single thing about them. Deeming the situation hopeless, as soon as his nation put him on hold to fight with their government, the Strasbourg obstetrician decided to be proactive and called the hospital in Paris to arrange a transferral of data and book a slot for France’s C-section.

Much to England’s dismay, the doctor ended up quarrelling on the phone with his counterpart in Paris, who voiced her annoyance at not having been involved before in the whole ordeal. As soon as the Parisian obstetrician had allowed her colleague to explain why they had kept France checked in Strasbourg, though, the two medics easily reached an agreement.

After a while, both Frenchmen closed their calls and resumed an almost professional attitude that was at odds with the yells and harsh words they had used with the people they were on the phone before. The double health fight, made England wonder whether he shouldn’t actually look at the papers on his own NHS that the opposition kept sending him. It wasn’t as if he believed that his NHS worked any worse than others did, but if such a nonsense could happen in France, he’d probably better double check his own as well.

“I can’t believe that they had the courage to tell me that they are closing down everything in the suburbs because they are dangerous!” France hissed while glaring at his doctor, guilty of having uncovered the infamous Pandora box. “It’s illogical to consider normal to rent a room or a caravan to have the chance to reach the nearest hospital in time!”

“The actual weak point of this strategy is the connection between the rural areas and–” the doctor was saying, before he realised that it was neither the time nor the place for such a debate. “Look, I think we should keep focussed on _your own_ pregnancy at the moment and leave something that is honestly _your job_ for _after_ the delivery. You live in Paris, not in a village, and you _do_ have a good hospital not too far from your apartment. I contacted the maternity ward there, and we reached some agreements to have your clinical history transferred to them. This way, they can be ready to assist you properly with the delivery at any time.”

“Wait, are we going to change doctor this late in the pregnancy?” England hurried to ask, a bit worried at the prospect.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Especially considering that _we_ are the specialists and Mr. Bonnefoy’s pregnancy needs all the knowledge at our disposal,” the doctor reassured them, “we’ll work together with the Parisians from now on so they can be ready in case of an emergency. I hope that there will be no need for them to use that information, but it’s better to be prepared for everything.”

“Will you come to Paris when the time comes, then?” France enquired, sounding quite surprised by the obstetrician’s words. “It’s not really something that’s usually done, I think.”

“There’s no other solution, isn’t it?” The doctor countered, compelling France to look guiltily down at the floor. “If you can’t come here anymore, it’s not like I can leave you unchecked: you need frequently updated prescriptions and careful monitoring. Besides, no matter how much you hate one another, our government will have _my_ head if something were to happen to you.”

“It’s not like I don’t _want_ to come here anymore, I sincerely _can’t_ keep doing this.” France attempted to defend himself. “Standing on my legs it’s too much of a problem. Two weeks from today I highly doubt it will get any better.”

“Do your legs hurt?” The doctor asked, looking sincerely worried as he closed the distance between himself and his nation.

“It’s too much weight, and the baby bump is too big...” France complained, his voice sounding as tired as he was. “My legs become tired quickly and I get cramps. Besides, I can’t even walk too much without ending up losing my balance…”

“When did you start having this kind of problems?” The other Frenchman went on, touching the sides of France’s belly as he used his stethoscope to listen.

“It has gotten worse since the last time we came here,” England offered, grasping France’s hand to comfort both his husband and himself. “Why? Is there something wrong with France?”

“It’s quite normal to be honest. Even too normal, considering the situation.” The doctor answered at the end of the check-up, putting away his stethoscope before staring back blankly at the two worried parents to be. “The children dropped. If this were a normal pregnancy, I would say that they moved in the right position to be delivered. This movement changes your barycentre; it is quite obvious that you would find it difficult walking or standing normally.”

“So… I’m supposed to get contractions any time now?” France asked worriedly, only to receive a relaxed shake of the head from his doctor.

“I’m not even sure that you are going to have contractions, honestly: there’s no birth canal for those children to get out,” The doctor answered in an attempt to reassure the two overly scared nations the best he could. “Precisely because of this, though, the children shouldn’t have dropped… it’s difficult to predict what will happen. Women usually give birth around the 38th and 43rd week, so I would say that at least for a month you shouldn’t really worry about delivery.”

“Still, everything could happen,” England pointed out, staring awkwardly back at the obstetrician. “And twins are often premature, even with a normal pregnancy–”

“Yeah, _everything_ could happen, but for any emergency now you can count on your hospital in Paris as well.” The doctor concluded, giving England the new prescriptions for France, before he started to work on the ultrasound machine. “We’ll see how things will turn out to be in two weeks, no need to worry _right now_.”

After they had finished with every check-up the doctor had planned for France, the obstetrician finally declared the session concluded, only to have to physically help his nation to get back on his feet. Both nations thanked the doctor and went to catch a cab to the train station in order to go back to Paris.

After sitting in silence in the train for a while, England cleared his throat. “It will be strange not having to come to Strasbourg this often.” ~~~~

“Work will keep bringing us to Strasbourg, it’s not like we will not come back anymore after the kids are out.” France pointed out, only to feel his husband resting his head on his shoulders as he cuddled to his side.

“You are wrong,” England reminded him, tightening his hold around France’s arm, “I don’t’ have any work to do in Strasbourg, not anymore.”

“Brexit passed through our fingers, didn’t it?” France sighed wistfully. “We’ll feel the real difference only after this whole pregnancy thing is over and we’ll have to restart our routines–”

“I _already_ feel the difference, even though we are not really going to decide anything before December,” England interrupted him hiding his face even more into France’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the work that I need to do… I can’t do it anymore.” England finally confessed, staring up at his lover in the eyes. “My sovereigns promised me the freedom to make my choices, but in foreign policy, I have to rely on you to keep a firm hold on our affairs with the continent. In economy, I have to wait the decisions of the other partners, without having a chance to participate actively in the meetings or tell them what I want to say in favour of my industries.”

“No matter how good my economy is, it’s currently declining and it will never be strong enough to challenge the EU’s, let alone America’s, China’s or Russia’s… why would they even hear me out, what do I have to offer by myself? I only had my central position inside the Union to trade…” England continued, his voice sounding every minute more scared. “And while I wait for any of the other actors in the world to give me a space I currently don’t have, who’s going to speak up for me?”

“ _Angleterre_ ~” France could only attempt to comfort his husband, dragging England against himself as much as he could in their current position. “I’ll speak up for you whenever I can, you don’t have to worry about that~”

“I hardly think it will be enough…” England countered moodily. “You don’t have a solid grasp on Europe, not to mention you don’t like how things are going on there no differently than I do.”

“You are right, but there’s no point in thinking about it now. We’ll talk about this in December, while we cuddle our children on the sofa in front of the fireplace.” France offered as he began caressing his lover’s golden hair, hoping to give England a dream to fight for until the situation extricated itself.

England could only reciprocate the hug and bury his nose in the crook of France’s neck, hoping that his scent would do the miracle to lull him far away from all his problems.

When they returned home, France attempted to cheer England up cooking something new enough to interest his husband but also easy enough that it wouldn’t require long hours on his feet. He hadn’t lied to the doctor: walking and even just standing was becoming an actual problem. This, coupled with the hot weather of the French summer, made France wish for the twins to just get out of his body, Brexit be screwed.

France could survive most of the orders he had to submit to for the sake of his unborn children, but he drew a line where his stomach started, and the latest weeks had already crossed it in too many different ways, even more than what had happened during the first months, when he had to survive the always be damned morning sickness. Both England and France had to adapt to the new situation, eventually, but since the English nation managed to get even the stirring wrong, adapting in the cooking area basically meant to limit themselves to recipes quick enough not to tire France too much, or ordering delivery from carefully chosen restaurants nearby.

If finding an alternative to France cooking their meals had eventually been solved, the rest of their routine had slowly turned out impossible to keep up. Except for some very light cooking, most of France’s day revolved around sleeping or resting, leaving not much time to work properly on all the different matters his sovereigns and Europe sent his way. This left England enough time –and willpower– to tackle down his own work and some of France’s, a combination of different yet identical politics that just confirmed how bad an idea Brexit had been, especially if done like this and without dragging France away with him.

It was not as if he could go back on his own volition, though. Therefore, the only thing he could do at the moment was to deal with the consequences and trust his husband to help him out the mess as much as he could, at least on the European side. A positive follow up of the pregnancy, however, was that England could make himself useful doing some of his husband’s work. If nothing else, this at least contributed to lessen the guilt he felt for being completely dependent on France, as far as his European interests were concerned.

The only problem with that was that England had to hope that France’s sovereigns wouldn’t question France’s homework being computer written as long as _he_ was the one doing them, because England sure as hell wasn’t going to even attempt copying his husband’s flowery handwriting. Leave it to France to be hostile to every single piece of technology conceived after the 17th century.

England was still working on some of his own documents by the time France woke up from his afternoon nap, yawning loudly before draping himself around his lover as much as he could.

“Are you working at the kitchen table?” The French nation teased, peeking at England’s work from behind his lover’s shoulder. “Too tired to get upstairs to your office?”

“It’s nice having a bigger apartment, but when we are alone it’s too big,” England answered him, using their position to leave a soft peck on his lover’s lips. “I wanted to be sure I could hear you, in case you needed something.”

“How kind of you, _cher_ ~” France chirped happily, finally moving to sit at the table next to him and then letting his head resting on England’s shoulders. “I should do some of my work as well, though. I can’t keep relying on you.” He interrupted himself to stretch slightly and yawn soundly again before continuing, “too bad that I can’t have some coffee to wake me up properly~”

“I can make you an herbal tea. It might help you start up after the nap,” England offered France, only to have his husband glare back at him.

“Herbal teas don’t have caffeine, _Angleterre_ , it’s also a wonder why you even call that _tea_.”

“You call it _tea_ too, love.”

“It’s not the most used word, though.” France pointed out, pouting at his husband only to earn England’s resigned sigh in answer.

Since he knew that he wasn’t about to win it and that, even if he had been up to the challenge, he wasn’t going to answer back to France on the topic, England just sat up and went to the kitchen in order to boil some water for the herbal tea.

He chose the most innocuous one among the lot they had at their disposal, and prepared two cups on a tray. When everything was set, he added a plate with some cookies to the ensemble, hoping that it would be enough to stop France from being his usual annoying self. Satisfied with his work, he went back to the kitchen table to serve to his lover the herbal tea.

“Thank you, _Angleterre_ ~” France greeted him with a big adoring smile as soon as he noticed the tray, as if England had done exactly what he had asked him to do. If England didn’t think that France was absolutely too cute whenever he sported such an innocent smile, he would have strangled him there.

“Drink it slowly, it’s still hot.” Was all England allowed himself to say, though, despite being sincerely at a loss about how to deal with his lover’s random moods. “If you really want to work, I’ll get your bag as soon as you’re finished.”

“Get it now, if you don’t mind.” France answered him with a weary sigh, watching tiredly the quiet sloshing of the tea inside his cup as he added some sugar. “I’m behind in everything, no matter how much you’re trying to help.”

England went to retrieve his husband’s working bag as requested, and then sat once again next to his lover before asking France the obvious.

“ _Can_ you work?” England asked him, his voice laced with worry. “It feels like the only reason you’re quarrelling with me is to prove to yourself that you still have enough energy to do it.”

“The doctor drastically changed my prescriptions,” France reassured him as he started to slowly sip his tea. “I’ll feel better in a couple of days, when higher doses kick in. I can’t sleep 24/7… it’s not even healthy for _us_.”

England reached out to caress his lover’s pale cheek in a desperate attempt to reassure France that he could still count on him, and then he leaned towards him to kiss his husband, the herbal aroma of the tea still tasting strange on his lover’s lips after all those months.

“I’ll help you out in whatever way I’m allowed to, France,” England reminded him. “I’ll make it up to you the best I can, considering how everything is my fault.”

“You are forgetting that to make a child you have to be two, and your Brexit is my fault as much as yours. That said… thank you, _mon cœur_ ,” France concluded cheerfully. “You are much appreciated no matter how you come and what you do~”

England smirked and shook his head in answer to France’s teasing, before both of them finally focussed once again on their paperwork and on their warm drinks. By the time dinnertime came, however, France had exhausted all his reserves of energy, so dinner was left in the hands of the nearby Italian and French restaurants that offered delivery service.

Restricting their choices to French and Italian had been England’s idea, essentially because those were the only cuisines he could trust not to give France heartburns even when he had no idea of what he was ordering. Most of the time, at least.

Despite having ordered enough to satisfy four people, not much was left in the end, which convinced England to call it a day and drag his lover back to bed to simply cuddle together and relax. The by-then-familiar habit of massaging the cream over his husband’s belly turned out to be the chance to talk about some inane things, but it also allowed England to check the full extent of France’s condition as well.

After he had finished with the cream, England retrieved some massage oil from the bedside table in order to work on France’s legs, which honestly felt like they were burning even though his lover had walked very little that day.

Feeling so pampered and taken care of, France could only heave a sigh of relief at the feeling of fresh oil over his heated skin and, as soon as England’s careful massages started to sort their effect, he just relaxed on the soft cushions his husband had piled behind him to help him keeping a sitting position.

“I don’t really know what I would do without you~” France purred contently, reaching out tiredly to his lover to caress his arm in a weak attempt to show him his appreciation and get his attention back on him.

England stopped what he was doing to stare at France’s hand, only to move his eyes back to France’s ones, in order to offer him a smile that couldn’t completely hide the sadness he was feeling.

“No matter what you said before, without me voting myself out of your project you wouldn’t be in this situation,” he muttered, only to earn a chuckle from France, who took this chance to grab England’s wrist and drag him down to rest properly next to him.

France put his arm around his husband’s shoulders, allowing him to cuddle to his side, England’s head resting on his swollen chest.

“I don’t mind the current situation: it taught me something about myself that I didn’t know. I thought that my health system was perfect, and instead I discovered that it’s still standing only because of how stubborn we can be.” France confessed to his husband, much to the island nation’s surprise. “How unfair of me, to call you out on your NHS all this time.”

“You’re not unfair, France, you were right,” England acknowledged with a spark of determination, looking up to his lover only to find France staring back at him, confusion depicted all over his face. “Even if it’s wonky, your system is still healthier than mine has ever been. I’m sorry it took me Brexit to notice how most of the things that don’t work at my place are only my fault. I think too much about what to do in foreign politics and too little about the faults in my own system.”

France could just smile to his lover and bring their foreheads to rest one against the other, in a desperate attempt to give his husband comfort in the only way he could from such a position.

“I’m still here for you, though. Personally as much as in foreign and internal politics,” France told England, only to feel his husband’s soft lips press down on his.

“I-I know you’re tired, but… can I ask you to be mine tonight?” England eventually summoned enough courage to request. “I do _really_ need to feel you by my side…”

“ _Mais oui, mon amour_ ~” France answered England with a teasing smirk. “ _I_ was the one asking you to take what you want whenever you want, after all.”

As soon as he got France’s permission, England dived straight down to kiss deeply his husband, devouring his lips like a desperate man. Tongues entwined and explored with intensity, as England shifted over France, planting his hands at his sides to get better access to his lover’s body.

He kept kissing him along his jaw and neck, as he singlehandedly worked on the buttons of France’s nightshirt to uncover his skin and caress him even lower.

“Is it warm enough?” England glanced up before he began working on the lower half of France’s night attire.

“With a lover as hot as you, I won’t get cold, don’t worry~ go on~” France reassured him, taking his chance to tug England’s lips once again against his as he started to work on his husband’s pyjama the same way England was doing with his nightshirt.

The kiss became each second hungrier and more desperate, until England finished with the last button and knelt between his legs. As they parted for him he took his time to watch France carefully, somehow feeling both guilty and aroused by the sight in front of him.

Pregnancy had certainly changed his husband’s body. France’s strong and hairy chest had turned less hairy month after month and was now slightly swollen, like the one of a flat woman, and the chiselled abdomen that had always felt hard with muscles under his touch had instead become softer and big enough to host their twins. If hair had –tragically– disappeared from France’s upper chest, however, it didn’t mean that it had also vanished from everywhere else: his blond hair had turned even more beautiful and longer than usual, but he was bound to shave twice a day to keep himself decent, since his beard and the rest of his body hair was growing quickly and unruly.

France’s strong and lean legs now needed a lot more care, having to sustain such an enormous weight for the first time and all of sudden: they had turned a bit swollen, but most of the changes happening to them were the veins getting bigger, in a desperate attempt to favour his blood circulation. Many things had changed to help with the new situation, but many others had just remained the same –like his long fingers, his strong arms and shoulders, his teasing smirk and his trustful gaze.

It would be hard for England to deny that he had never seen France as beautiful as he was now, no matter how difficult things were for both of them at the moment.

“You are having second thoughts seeing what have I become, aren’t you?” The French nation asked, his voice wavering with what couldn’t be anything but fear. “I wouldn’t blame you, you know… if you had changed your mind.”

“It’s actually the opposite,” England admitted quickly, not to make France think even for a moment that he was right. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are~”

Before France could object to his sweet-talking, England kissed him once again, as his hands pinched his hardening nipples before he began caressing his upper chest, only to move down his sides with quite evident desire. Hoping that he had thoroughly managed to distract France, England then resumed his trail of kisses down his collarbone, slow and languid, taking time to kiss every inch of skin he found on the way down, and then even lower, until he was in the right position to take France’s nipple in his mouth.

“You are a frigging liar, _Angleterre_ ~” France managed to breath out as soon as he felt the warmth of England’s lips on his sensitive nipple, unable to stop soft moans from leaving his barely open mouth at the sensation.

As an answer, England just bit down on the rosy bud he was currently molesting, only to start suckling on it and teasing it with this tongue. Much to his surprise, however, as he did that something extremely bitter came out from France’s nipple. He moved away from France’s chest in surprise and swallowed automatically, only to realise that whatever he had ingested had also a sweet component.

“ _Angleterre_?” France asked surprised, not really understanding the reason behind his husband’s sudden retreat.

Instead of answering him, England moved back over France to suck properly on the nipple he had just left abandoned, only to elicit a soft groan of pleasure from his aroused husband. Unsurprisingly, he tasted once again the liquid on his tongue –this time free from his bitter aftertaste– something that made England himself turn harder in response.

“ _Ahn_ \- _Angleterre_ ~” France pleaded, feeling slightly confused by England’s attitude as well as by his own excessive arousal at the feeling of his nipples being sucked and molested.

After a few moments of whimpering while also trying to get some friction on his neglected cock, the only thing France earned was England’s unsure eyes staring down at him as soon as he finally decided to leave his chest be.

“I-I really am a bad parent.” England confessed shamefully to his lover, confusing him even more.

“No doubt there, _mon amour,_ ” France managed to answer. “But what’s the reason now?”

“Y-your… _breast_ ,” England attempted to explain, turning visibly red in embarrassment. ”It’s leaking.”

“What!?” France asked him flabbergasted, attempting to sit up and failing badly at it. “Are you telling me that I became a _cow_??”

“I-I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” England reassured him, despite instinctively covering his mouth with his hand to hide his tongue licking his lips clean from the residual milk. “But it turns me on quite a lot…”

France rose a surprised eyebrow to his husband, as his mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he attempted unsuccessfully to answer him.

“The erotic ambassador.” France commented eventually, before giving up on his attempt to move into a sitting position in order to rest comfortably on the pillows. “You sure are full of surprises, _mon petit lapin_ ~”

“I want more~” England whined, resuming kissing France’s cheeks, neck and chest in a clumsy request of permission, before reaching France’s other nipple to bite down experimentally on it. “Tell me I can.”

As he waited for France’s answer, England kept himself busy licking the rose bud with the flat of his tongue as he teased the nipple he had been molesting before with the hand that wasn’t busy sustaining his weight.

“Move to the other side first. This position must feel awkward to you.” France proposed to England, suggestion that was followed soon by the aroused Englishman. England used this moment to move his arm around France’s shoulders so that he could hold him closer, then he began to suckle on his other nipple, hungry and wanting. After the first few bitter drops, soon some milk started to come out, something that elicited soft moans from both nations.

While he kept suckling on the hardened nipple, England moved his free hand towards France’s cock, only to find it already up and hard. The knowledge that all of this wasn’t pleasurable only for him calmed down the feelings of guilt and shame that were building inside of him and his lips stretched in a small, secretive smirk.

Eventually England forced himself to let go, only to greet France’s questioning stare with such a deliberately slow display of cleaning his lips with his tongue that it made his husband swallow hard at the erotic display. He moved to get the gel from the bedside table, then, and coated his fingers with it before moving once again between France’s legs to get him ready for him.

“I have something else to milk dry, no matter how much I like your chest like this~” England told France, making the Frenchman blush both at his words and at the feeling of his fingers slowly penetrating him.

“Fuck it, _Angleterre_ ~” France moaned at the skilful intrusion. “It feels good~”

As he added another finger England moved to cover France’s neck in kisses, in a vain attempt to distract him from the discomfort that scissoring could bring him, loving his lover’s reactions to his touch. His fingers pushed inside slowly, the lube making them slide in and out with a wet sound that made his cock twitch in sympathy, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside him. As soon as he was certain that this lover was ready, England moved once again to France’s side, and bent over him to catch his attention.

“Turn to your side.” He asked him, leaving a caring kiss on France’s shoulder as he helped his husband with the movement.

France followed the suggestion with some trouble, while England took care to put a pillow under his legs as well, to make him feel a bit more comfortable. When England was certain that France was all right, he finally grabbed a firm hold of his leg and entered him slowly, ready to stop at the first sign of discomfort.

The only answer he got was a soft plea to move on, though, suggestion that England was more than happy to oblige. It didn’t take much time for the English nation to find a pace satisfying enough for the both of them, as France’s barely suppressed growls told him even more clearly than his whole body language –still too stiff for England’s liking. Satisfying, then, but still not quite what he wanted to achieve… _damnit_.

As his mind thought quickly about what he could do, he noticed France attempting to reach for his own cock, something that gave him an idea on how to change their monotony into something less expected. Before his husband got a hold of his own erection England moved to a more central position, so that he could trust inside France without restrictions and at the same time grab a firm hold of his husband’s cock.

The slight change in position and England’s manoeuvre to keep the situation under his control took France by surprise, surprise that was wiped out quickly from his face as soon as England finally managed to hit his prostate properly.

The sudden jolt of pleasure made France moan, and he had to grab onto both the pillow behind his head and the sheets on the edge of the mattress, attempting keeping a strong hold on reality.

How many weeks had passed since England had dared this much without any fear of breaking him? France had honestly lost count of them, but now that his lover seemed to have found once again all his confidence, he had all the intention to fully enjoy it.

England’s hips slapped into him, his cock sliding deep and fast, though still mindful –ok, not really by that point- but the rush of the friction only made France feel the pleasure more keenly, aware of how close they were, his skin on fire.

“France, you feel so good~” England allowed himself to moan, as he stared down with half lidded eyes at his lover, who appeared as lost in pleasure as he was.

The sigh just fuelled his desire even more, slowly dragging him away from all the fears anchoring him down. And that felt so good… it felt so good to escape once again from reality, so extremely good that England felt the desperate need to make sure his lover was dragged away with him as well. England focussed on the head of France’s cock then, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin, precum leaking out and making his fingers slide faster, listening to the loud moans of appreciation, and did his best to hit his prostate in the way and at the speed that France favoured.

“Ah~ _Angl–_ ” France attempted to call for his husband, slowly feeling too lightheaded to even remember what was happening anymore. “ _Oui! C'est bon, Angleterre! Je t’aime-_ ”

The mix of moans and broken French that followed slightly surprised England, but not enough to distract him from what he wanted to achieve.

He didn’t stop, losing himself in the motions, and let himself and his husband slowly slip away together from a reality that wanted to see them as two different beings, and towards a world in which only the two of them existed.

It didn’t take them much longer to finally come, France climaxing all over his lover's hand and his own prominent belly, and England emptying himself inside the condom.

“ _Fuck_ , that was intense,” England panted as he let himself fall back on the bed, only to drape himself around his lover soon after. “And I broke France,” he added with a snicker. “It took me 800 years, though, so I don't think I should be happy with my performance until now.”

“Don’t be an idiot, _Angleterre_ , it just means that foreplay has a reason to exist, unlike what you always thought.”

“Was it the foreplay?” England asked, not really sure that _this_ was the reason. “It wasn’t any longer than usual, though.”

“Do you chronometer our sexual encounters, _Angleterre_?” France teased, amused by England’s recrimination. “I know you like figures, but that’s a bit too much.”

“You are a frigging idiot, you know France?” England attempted to defend himself. “I do admit I have little patience and a quick temper when it comes to get my dick inside of you or your dick inside of me, though.”

“You have little patience and a quick temper about almost anything, _mon cher_ ~”

“That’s irrelevant to the current debate,” England cut short, before smirking down evilly at his lover, “what’s relevant is that if it wasn’t the _length_ of the foreplay… then it means that it was the _kind_ of foreplay~”

France needed a few moments before he got the meaning of England’s words, but as soon as he understood what he was referring to, he blushed deeply and then sniggered at the tease.

“Oh, well, for one who’s only married to a nation famous for his cheese, you are quite a good cowherd~”

England and France laughed together at the complete mess they were even when it came to loving one another, and then he finally pulled out of his lover to get rid of the condom. Using a condom wasn’t really something they were used to do, but it certainly turned out extremely useful now that France wasn’t allowed to take a shower after they had sex. Cleaning wasn’t easy in any way, considering the size of his baby bump, therefore England could only keep an eye out for whatever solution could help him keep France as tidy as he could.

Before moving to get something to clean properly his husband’s belly as well, though, England took a few moments to drape himself once again over France's shoulders, wordlessly begging him for a goodnight kiss before France succumbed to sleep. The French nation answered the kiss with England’s same passion, yet demanding a slow and maddening pace that made England’s heart beat faster.

“I knew that it wasn’t going to last,” England chuckled, leaving a last peck on his husband’s lips before attempting to move back on his feet.

“Wait! What wasn’t going to last?” France asked, the tone of his voice revealing his worry at England’s innuendo.

“Your loss of control over yourself, you idiot!” England reprimanded him harshly, almost offended that after two millennia together France still doubted him. “You've never been this vocal except in my dreams.”

France blushed scarlet at the reminder and quickly averted his eyes from his lover.

“I- I just had nothing else to do…” France confessed, his voice so small about the end that England could barely hear that. “And foreplay once in a while is quite nice.”

“France?” England asked, barely managing to hide his surprise as he moved to get a better glimpse of France’s face. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Shouldn't I be?” The French nation complained in a weak growl.

“Are you seriously asking _me_ this?” England enquired, overly surprised by the news. “Since the very first time we had sex I’ve cried out in your arms, do you not think seeing you do the same in mine wouldn’t make me feel good about it? It should be the same for you, is not?”

France took a few moments to stare back shocked at his husband, as his mind seriously worked around England’s point.

“I thought you liked me to be the one in control,” France eventually spoke up, pouting in annoyance, his voice shifting slightly in tone, “and at any rate, _I_ want to see _you_ crying for more in _my_ arms! No matter what position we do!”

England just rolled his eyes at France’s comment, and took his chance to stamp a hard kiss on France’s lips before moving to stand up.

“Why am I even alright with someone as unreasonable as you are?” England reprimanded France, shaking his head in resignation even as he kept snickering at his complaints. “I like _everything_ about you! So if you want to let go for a single bloody night, just allow yourself to do it! And now, sleep!”

That said, he went to the bathroom to find something to clean France with. Only when he was sure that he had properly done everything he could to allow his lover to sleep clean, warm and peaceful, did he look back at him and noticed that France had already fallen deeply asleep. No news there: the French nation was already tired at the very beginning and lately he did sleep quite a lot. Still, the sight of his pregnant lover peacefully sleeping caused a soft adoring smile to blossom on England’s lips.

He moved to kiss his forehead and brush his hair out of his eyes, then he knelt in front of him to stare properly at the picture his husband made.

Would it be egoistical asking France to give up the EU and follow him outside? He had personally sent everything to shit because he wanted to have official bilateral agreements with France, but now that he was not aroused and frustrated he had to admit it had been quite a stupid reason, since their chances to work alone were limited and most of the bigger agreements had to pass through the EU.

It was true that after his leave and thanks to the precarious international situation France had become central in the discussion, and this despite his precarious economy and the siege he was living from inside. However, he alone could hardly do the work for the both of them, especially in his condition.

Maybe the best idea would be give up… give up on what, though? On Europe? Give up on the subtle game where they disagreed with one another so to get what they wanted from the others?

England wasn’t going to survive the Brexit, though, and France alone _couldn’t_ survive a Frexit, since he had the Euro and his economy was deeply rooted in the kind of power that being a single bigger market gave him. Still, they could officially merge and together they would be able to bend the rest of Europe to their will. France had personally proposed merging the week prior to his elections… could he do something to force his hand on that direction?

What would they do after they had turned a factual reality into official politics, though? Personally, they loved to quarrel, would merging kill that side of their relationship? England was certain that not even merging could manage such a thing, but their dysfunctional political relationship wasn’t just a pleasure for them, it was also a tactic that enabled them to reach their common targets. Would it be reasonable to give up on such a remunerative tactic only to make England finally surer of his place in the world? Besides, the Euro was just a pretext to think Europe as definitive, because if France honestly wanted to drop the project he had as many loopholes to exploit as England had.

What if France’s pet project showed itself to still be useful, though? Could he just quit being an idiot and re-join the union? If he re-joined the EU, though, their plans in foreign policy would have to change, and he was quite sure that foreign politics had actually been the real base of his sovereigns' charade, a reason that France himself had taken into account as he was planning for their after-Brexit agenda.

Since he wasn’t about to find a solution by staring at his husband while kneeling naked on the floor, England just sighed and walked to the other side of their bed in order to finally slip under the duvet and attempt falling asleep.

As he cuddled close to France’s back, luckily for him sleep caught up on him easily, lulling him far away from all his worries.

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	11. Denouement over la Manche

Two weeks later, France finally had his first check up in Paris.

When they walked past the door of the ambulatory, both him and England weren’t really surprised to find two more doctors at the side of the Strasbourg obstetrician they all had learned to know and ~~hate~~ love. Much to France’s surprise, one of the two Parisian doctors strode towards them as soon as he saw them, glaring in anger at the two nations.

“Then it really _is_ the two of you _again_!!” He yelled, planting himself right in front of them. “I thought I‘d never have to see your faces again after what happened in 2015!!”

“Wait, you are the doctor that patched France up after the 7th of January!” England realised, only to earn the surgeon’s irate glare turn on him.

“Of course I am! And _you_ are the _English husband_ that fed him magic.” The surgeon quipped annoyed. “We were barely able to contain religious extremisms without you messing with his head!”

“All things considered, I would say that you weren’t able to contain religious extremisms _at all_ ,” England dared to point out, unnerving the Parisian doctor who was then promptly interrupted by his colleague before he could continue his fight with the English nation.

She walked towards France, offering him her hand. “We are not here to have a fight on past matters! We have a more urgent situation at hand.” She then accompanied him to sit down on the hospital bed. “Hasn’t any of you noticed that he can barely stand? So much for having his husband and his surgeon around.”

Both England and the other Parisian doctor looked contrite at the obstetrician, who earned on the other hand a quite satisfied nod from her counterpart from Strasbourg.

“We called your former surgeon here because he has been helpful filling us in with useful information on your biology he collected during your previous hospitalisation here in Paris,” the Parisian obstetrician explained gently to France.

Before England and the surgeon could move one single inch from their current position, however, she glared at them, silently compelling them to stay away from her and her patient. As soon as she was certain that they had gotten the message, she and her Strasbourg colleague began the usual check-up on France’s life functions and analysis, taking their time to evaluate properly the results of the ultrasound machine to reassure themselves that everything was alright with the children.

“Despite the strangeness of a completely male biology, I would say that everything is as you’d expect it,” the Parisian obstetrician determined at the end of their check-up, scribbling down some changes to the doses of the supplements and allowing her counterpart to double check them, just to make sure that they were on the same page.

“Yeah, after the first two weeks in which we had to bring him back to normal, everything went along as normally as any other pregnancy would. This is the reason why I’ve asked you to book a slot for the C-section.” The Strasbourg obstetrician admitted, earning an approving nod by his colleague.

“If everything is supposed to go on without a problem, why the pre-scheduled C-section?” the surgeon asked, earning dubious raised eyebrows from all the other occupants of the room.

“Because there’s no place where the twins could come out from. Wasn’t that the reason?” England asked, deciding to voice out his own doubts.

“ _Still_ , everything is proceeding normally,” the Parisian doctor attempted to explain what he meant better. “Something could come up. I’m just saying, of course, but last time not a single thing went as expected. Now, however… things are different.”

“You bet that they are, I even started lactating!” France complained in annoyance, earning a surprised look from both obstetricians.

“You do? Really?” the Strasbourg doctor asked, sounding just a bit shocked.

“I even had to start wearing bras to stop the milk from staining my shirts,” France confirmed, staring at everything that wasn’t the obstetrician’s accusing stare.

“Are you sure it’s milk, it could be just about anything…” the Parisian obstetrician remarked, though, attempting to find a more logical interpretation of the situation. “Maybe we should have it analysed–”

“If he said it’s milk, then he’s certain it is milk,” her Strasbourg colleague interrupted her, smirking knowingly at his overly embarrassed nation. “Trust me on this, I bet _someone_ already sampled it.”

The Strasbourg doctor, then, moved his gaze to stare at England suspiciously, making the English nation blush in embarrassment, just like his husband was.

“W- Why are you looking at me like this!!??” England protested, staring back at France when he noticed that the other two doctors had also joined their colleague in smirking at him as soon as they had understood what the doctor meant. “France! Help me out, you git!”

“Why are you asking me? It’s not like I can deny their accusations,” France answered innocently, however, confirming that the three doctors were right.

“If what they said is true, however, the question has even more value,” the Parisian obstetrician decided to interrupt the banter, focussing back on the ultrasound they had been watching. “Let’s guess that he will have contractions… There still is no channel through which the children could come out.”

“Channel?” France realised all of sudden, abruptly turning in his husband’s direction and reaching out for him. “ _Angleterre_ , come here, I need your resourceful knowledge.”

“What knowledge? You even forbade me to have my own war plans after what happened during World War Two,” England countered, even as he followed France’s request to reach his lover’s side.

“Well now, _mon cher,_ ” France reprimanded him. “You _really_ deserve your war plans to be organised by me or America.”

“The Great Panjandrum could have worked!!” England protested heatedly, only to be glared at by his husband. “I– it was a wonderful idea!”

“And it’s exactly because you _still_ believe that it was a wonderful idea that you’re _still_ not allowed to plan your own wars, if not under mine or America’s supervision.” France concluded pointedly. “ _We_ say _Hit this!_ and _you_ destroy it, like a good dad should do. Just look at where we are now: we leave you alone and you Brexit, destroying yourself instead of the enemy!”

“I hate you and how you have dragged America into this too!” England quipped annoyed, crossing his arms on his chest before glaring down at his husband. “What’s the deal then, since apparently for you I’m still not allowed to have my own opinions?”

“Look at the ultrasound: where are the twins, _Angleterre_?”

“In my territorial waters,” England answered diligently, earning a slap behind his head for his trouble. “France!”

“They are your children too and they are every day bigger, don’t you dare to accuse them of trespassing like my fishermen! _We_ ’ve always fished there and _you_ can’t even cook your bloody fish!”

“Fuck it, France! Don’t go into Brexit fish drama mode!” England whined in pain, massaging the back of his head. “I was just answering to your question! They are in the Channel, is that what you mea– oh, bloody hell.”

“Exactly my point,” France agreed, sounding now rather unsure and worried despite the earlier shenanigans. “If it’s a channel what the doctor are searching for, well, we have it.”

“It is a channel that doesn’t flow the way is supposed to, however.” England noted, pointing his finger to the area surrounding the twins. “The water follows this direction, towards something that is still neither France nor England. It should flow in the other direction to have a viable channel for birth. We should have something inside your lands.”

“I don’t have rivers big enough ending at Calais, though.” France countered. “And even if I had one, how would the doctors deliver the children, if they can’t see the passage?”

“Because they need a Channel, rivers will never be big enough.” England reasoned, taking some time to mull over their alternatives and finding none. “C-section really is the only solution, because they can’t honestly just move along the Channel… Right? There’s just the ocean there.”

“ _You_ are the one who studied the Channel for the Normandy landings…” France admitted, staring worried at his husband before turning to the ultrasound. “There’s no doubt that I could have contractions, though, because they _are_ in a channel, strictly speaking.”

“If I may,” the Parisian obstetrician interrupted the two lovers’ reasoning, “you are seeing that the twins are currently in _England_ ’s national waters, isn’t it? Still, they are inside _France_.”

The two husbands could only stare, surprised at the value of the doctor’s analysis.

“Well, they are mine but we’ve always shared the space. Besides, we have an underwater tunnel that’s just ours crossing it.” England confirmed. “The Channel is more _ours_ than divided in _mine and his_ , properly speaking.”

“Why can’t the children follow the flow of the Channel to be delivered by France, then?” She continued, sounding much surer than before. “We need to get them out, not to keep them inside France.”

“Human children are supposed to grow in water just like ours, aren’t they?” France asked to the Parisian obstetrician. “Still, the waters break and they have to pass _through the mother’s body_ to get out.”

“Our territorial waters are _ours_ , though.” England reminded his husband, bending over him to take his hand in his. “She’s right; it’s still France and England even though it’s sea but not land.”

“Let’s assume that’s true. It means that our Channel delivers in the opposite direction than with a human pregnancy. Therefore, the doctors won’t be able to see the channel.” France realised, his voice trembling in fear as he swallowed hard at the dreadful prospect. “Does it mean that I will have to give birth by myself?”

“No, but we could actually wait for you to have contractions. This way we are certain to deliver the twins when you are ready.” The Strasbourg obstetrician tried to reassure the frightened nation. “Then, we take them out with a C-section, this way we won’t have to bother about the flow of the channel.”

The reassurance managed to calm France down a fair bit, even though some doubts were still there to bother him.

“I will actually need to learn how to recognise them, then.” France admitted weakly, staring at England’s hand still grasping his.

“You were having Braxton contractions already, didn’t you?” The Parisian obstetrician asked him, unsurprisingly only to receive a short nod from the French nation.

“You really should have told me.” The Strasbourg doctor complained, eyeing severely France no differently from his Parisian counterpart. “Just like the milk coming out, these things tell us how the pregnancy it’s going, what to expect and how soon!”

“I- I didn’t really want to think that I would have it exactly like a pregnant woman.” France admitted, still staring at their clasped hands as he tightened his hold on England’s. “I hoped it would be easier.”

With a sigh, the Parisian obstetrician shook her head. “It’s not really you or us that can decide this though,” she started gathering the prescriptions and adjourned photos of the twins for England to keep and then she went to help France stand up. “If nothing happens before that day comes, we’ll see you in two weeks. If by that day there isn’t a sign of actual contractions yet, I will consider keeping you in the hospital. You officially could have the children any moment from now on.”

France and England submitted to the Parisian doctor’s orders in silence and left the room, both of them huddling closer to one another as they noticed the three doctors meeting up together to talk quickly among them as soon they had left the room.

Unfortunately, they could only hope that everything would eventually turn out for the best.

* * *

As the days passed by, England psychologically prepared himself to rush to the hospital as soon as France started having contractions, since there was no way on heaven or earth that his husband would get through the whole ordeal as well as he had done during the previous months. Since he had realised that he wasn’t going to have it any nicer than any other pregnant human did just because _he was a nation and_ _they didn’t reproduce like that_ , France had fallen into sheer panic.

Even for a nation that didn’t know much about how a normal pregnancy could derail like England was, all that pent-up anxiety meant a risk of early labour. Early, of course, according to the doctors’ hopes, but as a matter of fact it would still be rather normal.

That was why, after England’s attempts to relax France had failed one after the other, the English nation wasn’t surprised to wake up the night of September 10th to the sound of France’s almost inaudible whimpering. It took him some minutes to understand where his husband was, but he eventually found him crying while sitting on the floor, his nightshirt stained with something that looked like water mixed with blood.

“France, bloody hell! You were supposed to call me before the waters broke!” England reprimanded him, as he rushed to France’s side. “Why are you even sitting on the floor!?”

“It hurts, _Angleterre_!” France whined at the reprimand, though. “Please, make it stop!”

“How long since the contractions started?” England asked, as he attempted to help France standing up to no avail, since France seemed to have no intention to move on his own from where he was.

“I don’t know! It was not supposed to go like this!!” France yelled, evidently having a nervous breakdown as he shivered in both cold and panic.

Understanding that nothing was going to work as they had previously planned it, England reached out for his mobile and then attempted to hold France close to him so that his ear was just above his heart, something that usually managed to relax France. He waited for his heartbeat to calm France down enough not to attempt to get free from his embrace, and then he dialled for an ambulance, taking care to ask to call in both the obstetricians in charge of France, since they were the only ones who would know what to do. Despite the initial protests, he eventually managed to have it in his way.

As soon as he closed the call he looked down at his lover, who was still trembling and whimpering softly in both pain and fear. He could feel France’s hands clenching harder each time he felt the pain of the contractions, which made him realise that the idiot had been sitting there for a long while –or that his labour was progressing quickly. Or maybe, a mix of the two.

“France, can you change into something clean, wash up yourself a bit and shave?” England dared to ask. “You can’t go around as wet as you are, you will catch a cold…”

“I can’t move! It hurts too much!” France protested, tightening his grip on England as he felt another contraction.

“Warm water helps, France, let’s have a try, shall we?” He offered, dragging up France from the floor. “C’mon, love, I’ll warm you up nicely.”

Despite the initial remonstrations, France allowed England to lead him to the bathroom, where the English nation let the water run to make it warm, so that he could clean up France at least a little. He didn’t dare much, but at least he managed to wash his legs and his groin from the mix of mucus, water and blood, and to soothe some of France’s pain allowing the warm water to run over his belly.

England left his husband with the water still running on his bulging stomach, then, and went back to their room in order to wear a pair of jeans and a sweater. He proceeded to retrieve quickly the bag they had prepared beforehand and a change of clothes for France. When everything else was ready, he went back to his husband and helped him to dry himself, change and eventually shave, since his beard was the only thing that could really give France up at the moment.

He had just finished giving France a civilised appearance that the paramedics parked the ambulance in front of the building, so the English nation went to meet them and let them in. In less than half an hour the ambulance reached the Hospital, half an hour that France had spent crying in his husband’s embrace, much to the paramedics’ dismay.

Once they had gotten inside the hospital, predictably they only found the Parisian obstetrician waiting for them, who quickly lead France inside one of the rooms at her disposal to try to understand how far he was.

“Have you taken the timing of the contractions?” She asked England, considering that France was still in no physical shape to answer.

“I think… five minutes apart?” England guessed. “The git is not really cooperative. I’m taking a guess looking at him.”

The shameful confession earned him France’s glare as he just grabbed England’s shirt in order to get him down towards him.

“I’ll give you cooperative, _England_!” France warned. “I swear to you that after all of this has ended, I’ll turn your frigging lands into ruins!!”

England could only swallow at the threats and attempted to caress the back of France’s hand in order to reassure him.

“We’ll talk about it later, alright? Let’s just follow the doctors' instructions, for now,” he cooed gently, fearing that his lover’s promises might even be meant, considering their latest political resolutions.

“Yeah, you really should,” the obstetrician butted in as she turned on the ultrasound machine. “Mr. Kirkland, I need to know if you are seeing something that makes any particular sense to you.”

“Well, they are moving along the English Channel-”

“It’s la Manche!” France interrupted him, whimpering in pain as another stronger contraction hit him. “I’m really going to blow up your frigging island, and then I’ll challenge you to try remembering what the fuck the word _English_ even means!”

“It’s la Manche, all right, France.” England reassure his lover, thanking every god he knew that soon he would finally be allowed to yell back at France, at least in self-defence. “They are still following the flow of the channel,” he added then, staring back worriedly at the Parisian doctor.

“My colleague is coming here from Strasbourg, but considering that the contractions are getting too close we have no time to wait for him,” she explained as calmly as she could. “I’ve asked to prepare a room for the C-section. If things progress as they have so far, in less than half an hour I will call you in, is that alright?”

England nodded to her question, while France just grabbed tightly his husband’s hand.

“Can’t we wait for the other doctor too?” France asked wearily, earning a surprised stare from the obstetrician and an annoyed stare from his husband. Before she could ask him if he had any prejudice against her, England was already prepared to scold his husband properly.

“France, you can’t wait anymore! If we wait for him, you won’t deliver _later_ , you will deliver _on your own,_ because the doctors can’t help you if they don’t see the channel. It would be hard for me to direct them and painful for you!”

England’s reprimand sorted the effect to make France capitulate. The obstetrician sighed at the couple and then went to call an anaesthetist to put France to sleep.

“Time for the anaesthesia to put you to sleep and we can move on,” she explained, attempting to sound as reassuring as she could. “I’ll have a surgical garb be brought in for your husband, since we’ll need him to see if everything is actually proceeding alright. This should make you feel safer as well.”

France swallowed at the prospect in front of himself, eyeing suspiciously the needle breaking his skin to put him to sleep. As soon as the anaesthetist had finished with him, though, France stared up to England, looking completely scared as he attempted to reach for his hand.

“I love you, _Angleterre_.” He admitted, as he felt the medicine slowly run through his whole body and starting to numb his senses.

England smiled at France and took his hand in his before lowering down to kiss him gently on his lips.

“Everything will be alright, honey, don’t worry about it. I’ll stay with you.” England reassured him, caressing the back of his husband’s hand until his husband’s firm hold became weaker and finally France closed his eyes to fall asleep.

After that, too many things happened one after the other, considering that England had never thought in his whole life that he would have to check over a C-section. Despite the strange occurrence and England’s conviction of being utterly inadequate for the task, everything eventually went on for the best even though he and the doctor were seeing two completely different things.

As he and France had guessed, the twins were in the waters of their Strait, and England couldn’t help but feel deeply moved as, to his eyes, the obstetrician put her hands into the clean water of the Channel in order to take them out. He still managed to maintain enough self-control to direct properly the doctor, though, reassuring her that she was doing all right while also considering France’s actual physiology.

So focussed as England was checking France’s vitals and his husband’s motionless features for any sign of distress even after the doctor had finished closing up France, the nurse had to repeat his name several times before he acknowledged her presence. It was only when he noticed at his side the nurse holding a white bundle in her arms, did England realise that everything had come to its end, and that the obstetrician was already giving orders to the hospital personnel to bring France inside a room in the maternity ward.

The baby in the nurse’s arms was… beautiful, and so very small, and round. They’d cleaned her up, wiping the blood and other fluids, and though she seemed fussy, lips parted to make small noises, she quieted down quickly, comfortably wrapped as she was in a warm, dry blanket. Maybe England was a bit partial, but he could already see the resemblance with France in her tiny, red face.

“Mr. Kirkland? Would you like to hold your daughters before we bring them to sleep?” The nurse asked, attempting to sound as nice as she could, considering England’s panicked expression. “Or would you rather have them brought in your husband’s room?”

“I- I have no idea, we never talked about this.” England answered, staring down with quite a big amount of panic at the baby in the nurse’s arms. His arms moved almost automatically to reach out for the child, but as soon as he realised what he was doing England stopped his movements in sheer panic, suddenly not sure about how fair it would be to be the first one to hold the twins in his arms.

France was honestly going to make him cry, politically speaking and, now that they could finally fight once again, their relationship was about to become as dysfunctional as ever... still, regarding their kids, England wanted to do things right. They hadn’t really managed it well throughout history and certainly they weren’t going to start now, but even then, they had always honestly tried their best.

“I want France to hold them first,” he decided eventually, with not much determination. “I think he will want them in his room as soon as he wakes up, but as for the moment you can bring them to sleep.”

The nurse stared surprised back at him and nodded, putting the baby she was holding together with her sister inside a double stroller. She made him write down the names for the children and then brought them to the sleeping room, in front of the visibly pained stare of the English nation, who felt like they had just cut away a piece of his body.

“It’s nice that you are doing this for your husband,” the doctor eventually decided to tell England. “Still, you _could_ have held them if you wanted to. They are yours as well.”

“I- I don’t want to do something wrong that would anger him.” England rushed to defend himself. “I already do that on my own, and… Well, I hope that it won’t happen with the children as well…”

England took his time to go back to his sleeping lover and caress him gently on the top of his hair before kissing him chastely on his forehead. Smiling fondly at how innocent his devastating husband looked while asleep, England added, “pregnant or not he’s always been moody.”

“I can imagine that. He gave my colleagues quite a scare five years ago,” she admitted, before signalling to one of the nurses that had just gotten there to bring France to his room.

As they moved outside the room together with France on the hospital bed, she took that chance to grab a bunch of documents that she took care to show into England’s hands.

“It will be a few hours before he wakes up, I’m leaving the documents to compile to you,” she explained, “we’ll retrieve them later on, probably when my colleague from Strasbourg comes to visit you and check how it is going. If anything happens or if he wakes up and he wants to see the twins, just call for us or the nurses.”

It didn’t take them too long to reach the single room they had arranged for France and to set him on the bed to rest properly. England said his goodbyes and thanked the nurse and the doctor, and then he just resigned to wait for France to wake up as he started compiling all the documents the obstetrician had left for him.

France woke up only several hours later, finding England asleep on a chair at the side of his bed, his head resting on his arms crossed over the backrest.

“ _Angleterre_?” He called for him quietly, slightly surprised by the sound of his voice sounding so groggy and hoarse. Why were they in hospital anyway?

As he attempted to remember, France suddenly realised that something was missing… he was sincerely feeling too light. Wait, he had gone into labour, hadn’t he? He stared down at his belly and panicked as he noticed that he could finally see his own feet after about five months.

“ _Angleterre_!” He yelled at his lover, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt to drag him towards him and hyperventilating as the fear of not finding the twins where he knew they were safe made him slowly lose the focus of his own reality. “ _Angleterre_ , where are the twins!? What happened?”

“France? What’s up?” England asked him, blinking blankly at his husband as he attempted to remember where he was and understand what France could be yelling about.

Since England wasn’t giving him any quick answer, however, France touched his chest down to his belly, trying to understand what could have happened on his own. His upper chest felt still soft and full as he remembered, but his lower chest showed only the faint trace of a scar that had almost completely disappeared. His flat and well-toned abdomen looked no different from what had always been before the twins had come into their life.

Seeing his husband touching himself and getting each second more scared, however, finally managed to get England wide-awake.

“France! France, calm down, honey!” England yelled at his husband, moving quickly to sit down on the bed at his side and grab firmly France’s wrists, in order to make him stop panicking and stare back at him. “Love, calm down, everything is alright. You are a nation, you heal quickly!” he reminded him, before offering him a kind smile. “Our twins are fine. I was just waiting for you to wake up before asking to the hospital personnel to bring them here.”

“They are fine?” Was the only thing that France was eventually able to ask.

“Perfectly alright, the obstetrician didn’t even need my help to guide her, everything went smoothly.” England reassured him, huddling France close to him. “The doctor from Strasbourg came here to check on you while you were sleeping. He agreed that everything was all right and went to consult with his Parisian colleague to decide how to deal with the supplements. They will most likely make you stop taking all of them. They were in doubt about the milk, but it seems that now that they are out, your body is dealing with everything by itself.”

“I can lactate without the progesterone?”

“So it seems, they are trying to work out the odds,” England reassured him with a smile. “You want me to have the children brought in?”

Still seeming doubtful about everything being alright, France nodded, reaching out to hold England’s hand. “Yes, please!” ~~~~

England nodded to him then and went outside the room to get a nurse. It didn’t take him long to find one and ask for the twins to be taken to them, but when he got back, he saw that France was once again looking completely scared back at him.

“Why did they take them away?” he asked, his voice trembling from the nerves. “Why did you let them out of our sight?”

“France, first of all –calm down,” England swallowed, talking as slowly as he could. “You needed to rest, that’s why I asked them to keep the children. Bloody hell, usually I am the one overreacting.”

“But they are different!” France complained, biting his lower lip in worry. “Everything could happen or could have happened.”

“Nothing bad happened, honey, they are alright–” a door opened, making England pause his attempts to reassure his lover, and a nurse entered the room pushing a double stroller with the two sleeping baby nations inside. “You see? Here they are.”

England stood up and moved a bit to the side so that the nurse could leave the children right next to France’s bed; he stared down at his lover as he moved to take one of the twins in his arms as soon as the nurse had left the room. A soft smile appeared on England’s lips as he saw that his husband’s expression was finally happy and peaceful, and he allowed himself to relax against the wall, content to admire the small slice of his family in silence.

“What are you doing there, _Angleterre_?” France asked after a while, staring up at his husband as he moved slightly to the side to make room for him on the hospital bed. “Why don’t you sit next to me with Calais? I can’t really hold the two of them at the same time, at the moment, but I want to see them together.”

France’s proposition greatly surprised England, making him blush scarlet and stutter in panic.

“I-I can take D-Dover from your arms, i-if you wish!” he spluttered, “s-so you can get Calais.”

“What’s the difference?” France asked flabbergasted, staring at first down at the still peacefully asleep Dover and then at Calais, who was instead starting to wake up due to the sudden commotion. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want to hold Calais because she’s French territory…”

“The hell, France!” England eventually managed to yell properly, turning even redder than before. “I-I just wanted you to be the first to hold the children!”

France simply stared up at his lover, completely at a loss of words.

“You mean that you still haven’t held them?” The question was delivered in a deadpan tone.

“I- I thought that you would have liked to be the first…” England admitted, lowering his eyes in embarrassment and earning only a soft laugh from his husband.

“You are an idiot, _Angleterre_ ,” France concluded fondly, waiting for his lover to look back at him before patting right next to him on the bed to invite England to join him there. “C’mon, get Calais and come here before she starts crying. This way we can see them properly together.”

England moved close to the stroller and swallowed anxiously as he attempted to reach down for the barely moving child, though panic made him freeze right as he was about to touch Calais… but then he took a deep breath and forced the panic down, taking her properly in his arms. She did not squirm in his hold, but her little face scrunched up a bit as she huffed. She was tucked inside the small baby blanket, clean and beautiful, and England released a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding in. The warmth, the softness and everything else he could imagine overwhelmed him as England sat down next to his husband, sporting an expression that spoke volumes about his uneasiness.

“So, how is it?” France teased him, bouncing his shoulder against England’s. “Having children this way has some perks, it seems. None of our kids has ever been _this_ small when we found them.”

“You are right… how are we even going to deal with them?” England asked, worry clear on his face, not unlike the way it had been for France until then.

“I might have healed quickly, but I need a bit of time to understand the new routine I fear,” France admitted, staring down at the now completely relaxed baby in England’s arms to caress her cheek with love. “Give me about a week and we can move back to London, _Angleterre_. You must go home and settle your matters, and I need to be certain they won’t try making me rush to the other side of France for work every few days.”

“Are you sure about this France?” England asked unsurely, feeling a bit divided on the matter. It was true that technically speaking it _was_ time for them to move to London, but the island nation didn’t like much the idea of going home, especially considering that it meant dragging together with him his still recovering husband and their baby girls. “I don’t want to ask you this.”

“I want to, _mon amour_ ,” France reassured him, kissing him warmly on his cheek. “I want to give back a little of what you have done for me these latest months. Besides, you _need_ to go home. If I stay here in Paris, how are we going to quarrel? One wouldn’t want to change the good habits.”

“What about your work, though? Are you sure that you are allowed to take time off?” England questioned France. “I don’t really know much about rules here on this matter.”

“Have you ever known me for someone to abide the rules?” France answered him honestly, as he caught a faint sound of someone running coming from outside the room. “I guess we’ll have an answer for this soon, though.”

“Hmn?” England asked, rising doubtfully his head to look up at France just as the door to the hospital room was slammed open and a panicked middle-aged Frenchman made his way inside.

“Tell me this isn’t how you work. _He_ breaks the international agreement and _your_ water breaks!”

“ _Salut_ , Jean,” France greeted his Prime Minister with a compassionate smile, “if we knew how we worked we wouldn’t be sitting here at the moment.” He allowed himself to stare at the baby nation in his arms and lightly caressed her head, already covered in fine blond curls. “On a second thought, that might be even for the best.”

“It’s… it’s a bit too much in a few months of service,” the politician attempted to complain, before glaring at England as soon as he heard his barely contained chuckle.

“Ever wondered why Philippe fled?” The Englishman countered merrily, eliciting a complicit smirk from his lover at his side.

“Well at least now you will be fully back at work…” Castex commented as he straightened up his back, annoyed by the nations’ antics.

“About that, I need to take parental leave and reorganise my work completely from home: we are leaving for London in about a week.”

“Can’t _he_ take parental leave?” Castex countered annoyed, glaring at England.

“I don’t even know what options I’d have, to be honest,” England wondered. “Mine should be one or two weeks only, though, and even if I use it up it won’t be enough to cover up for France back full time right away.”

“It’s not like we have that much more for fathers,” Castex pointed out, crossing his arm on his chest in defiance against the nations’ complaints. “And rules are to be respected by everyone the same way. I read up about you in the archives: there’s no way I will allow you to disappear one year just for the sake of it. You are our nation! You should set an example–”

“Make it longer for everyone else, then?” France cut him off annoyedly, not even looking up at his shocked Prime Minister.

“What?”

“You heard me right. I’ll take four weeks, if that’s a problem, change it for everyone else. I won’t step down.”

“I-I… uh, I’ll ask the President about it…” after a moment of silence Castex eventually admitted defeat, cut short the goodbyes and the formal best wishes he was supposed to deliver from the Government then hurried back to Macron in order to explain him the deal.

After France’s Prime Minister was gone, England took that chance to kiss his husband warmly on his cheek.

“You are a Devil,” he teased as soon as France’s attention was once again back on him. “Is this how France got most of his social reforms?”

“Nah, we prefer strikes and warfare.” France chuckled, before turning to face England properly and steal a chaste peck on his lips. “You already know all of it though, don’t you? With the nearing of a No Deal Brexit, don’t even hope I’ll be nice to you in the treaties~”

England laughed at France’s teasing and let his head resting on France’s shoulders.

“Of course, dear. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my most adored enemy.”

* * *

**T.B.C.**


	12. Aftermath

It was a cold, foggy and rainy day in London, when a loud knocking echoed inside the large entry room of England’s mansion.

All the adult nations present stared at the door, looking a bit surprised by the sudden noise; England even stopped playing hand-catch with his daughter, who had been giggling happily inside her cradle until then, as he attempted to make sense of what was happening.

After a quick exchange of glances among them, Scotland decided to see who the intruder was, since he was already standing and he was the closest to the entrance door.

“Who the hell is there, now?” England sounded quite annoyed as he moved his gaze to question his older brother. “It’s the fucking 31st of December and I thought we were on full lockdown.”

“You go into _full lockdown_ every ten hours, brother, and it’s never quite what’s needed,” Scotland bit back at his little brother as he went to check who was on the other side of the door through the peephole. As soon as he realised who the newcomers were, however, Scotland’s mood changed visibly and he couldn’t stop himself from smirking maliciously at England.

“It’s the European Union,” he announced, sporting the happiest and most satisfied grin one could imagine on the Scottish nation’s face. “Germany and the two Italies.”

“Tell them to fuck off.” This only earned England an eyeroll from Scotland and an annoyed scoff from his husband, who was currently attempting to do some work on the sofa on the other side of the room.

“ _T'es un con, Angleterre_ ,” France chastised him, placing the papers that he had been revising on his legs, in order to cross his arms on his chest and glare at his husband properly. “They are most likely here to talk with _me_! Besides, we nations are not subjected to local restrictions.”

“That’s a rule _you_ made for yourself, just because you can’t grasp the logic behind the tiers!”

“No surprise there, there’s _no_ logic in your tiers,” Scotland took this chance to tease his brother, earning a complicit smirk from the French nation.

“ _However_ ,” England continued, ignoring his older brother to keep addressing his husband, “there’s no doubt that they are here for you, but I still don’t bloody want them in my house.”

The only answer England got from the rest of his family was Scotland actively unlocking the door.

“ _Nevertheless_ , _I_ don’t care about what _you_ want as much as _you_ don’t care about what _we_ want, little Brother.” Scotland argued, before opening wide the door to allow the three continental nations to irrupt inside the room.

Italy, who was apparently the most concerned among the three of them, didn’t even stop to greet Scotland and he dove straight into France’s arms. His southern counterpart was left behind, right in the middle of the room, looking doubtful about the serious risk of showing himself sincerely concerned for their cousin’s whereabouts. Behind his nervousness, however, it was hard not to notice how Romano seemed extremely relieved to see France still in one piece as well, this despite the fact that the French nation was currently residing in England.

“Big brotheeer!!!” Italy whined, hiding his teary face into the crook of France’s neck and, in doing so, successfully muffling anything else he wanted to add to his plea. If those were words of relief to see him alive or questions about how it was going for the French nation, it was honestly hard to tell.

“W-what’s up with you, Italy??” France asked, evidently shocked by the intrusion and at a loss about how to deal with his desperate cousin while at the same time trying to prevent his paperwork from scattering on the ground.

It was Germany who voiced the reason for their impromptu visit, still standing nervously by the entrance door, right by Scotland. “France, are you alright?” ~~~~

“Why shouldn’t I be??” France asked him, eventually deciding to move his paperwork on the sofa to hold Italy in his arms properly, since the younger nation had now started to cry loudly –this time in obvious, sheer relief. Strangely enough, even Romano –still standing in the limbo that was the middle of the room– looked on the verge of tears.

“Well, the Brexit… hasn’t England’s parliament ratified the agreement yesterday?” Germany explained, furtively watching England who was still staring at the other European nations in the same position he had been when they had barged inside: green eyes wide-open, barely open mouth, and the hand he was using to play with his daughter still frozen in mid-air, too out of reach for the blond baby nation.

The one who actually managed to make England focus back to the current situation, eventually was no one other than Calais who, feeling annoyed at the interruption of her game, began crying for his attention. That was enough to get England to focus once again on his daughter, prompting him to take her in his arms to reassure her that everything was fine before she managed to wake up her sister.

“Here, here, love, dad is here~” he cooed gently, as he sat on the sofa behind him, so that he could properly focus on his crying child.

“What the hell were you guys doing?” Germany asked eventually, surprised when he noticed the apparently quiet and familiar scene. “We thought you guys were throwing plates at one another.”

“Why would we?” France and England wondered aloud at the same time, momentarily looking up to Germany instead than focussing on the now two crying nations in their arms.

“Besides, _we_ still didn’t ratify anything. Until the 28th of February nothing is written in stone,” France added with complete nonchalance, strangely –at least from Germany’s point of view– not earning even a scoff from the island nation he had married.

“ _We_ are throwing things at one another,” Scotland interjected, pointing first at himself and then at his little brother, “we’re not allowed to use the dinnerware when the fight derails, though, because France threatened to make us eat on the floor, if we dare even try.”

“T-then what about you two?” Romano asked then, rising an enquiring eyebrow at his cousin a bit confused by the explanation of the two British considering that France and England were currently sitting at the opposite sides of the room. “Are you giving the cold shoulder to one another? Are you going to divorce?”

At those words, not only England and France’s eyes glued in pure shock on the younger nation, but also Scotland and Wales’.

“Has the health crisis gotten to your head?” Wales enquired sarcastically. “If it wasn’t for us brothers fighting against one another, this house would be much quieter. And I’m saying this including the two screaming new-borns and those two still recovering from a year of limitations in the sex department.”

“But-” Germany tried once again, looking as confused as Romano was, “–this is not _exactly_ what we heard by your sovereigns or what we expected. I mean, as officials relations are currently going–”

“ _Our representatives_ faced an increase in… _disagreements_ some weeks ago, to be honest,” France admitted eventually, “but let’s say that those were easily solved.”

“I wouldn’t really call that easy…” Scotland countered, annoyed, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Yeah, it looked like blackmail to us,” Wales agreed with his brother. “No matter if it served to all of our interests, in the end.”

“Well it could have gone worse,” England reminded to the rest of his family as he proceeded to explain to the rest of the European Union what had happened behind closed doors.

* * *

Flashback

* * *

The flat screen of the laptop showed six rather annoyed people: three overly dressed in different shades of blue, the other three in different shades of red.

“And this is it,” Michel Barnier concluded, looking like the calmest Frenchman on Earth despite the edge of annoyance in his words. Words concluding a very long and detailed speech during which he had managed to explain the details of the arrangements until then, quote de Gaulle, and taunt the British on their pitch-dark future, their stupid ideas, their cuisine and their damned fish.

“You see? He is completely uncooperative!” David Frost commented, visibly on the edge despite his best efforts at keeping up some British aplomb no differently than his French counterpart. Contrary to Barnier, however, he was failing in the attempt.

“I wouldn’t call _myself_ uncooperative. _You_ are the ones that keep focussing on the stupidest things!” Barnier protested, uncaring to turn the call-conference into yet another quarrel between the two of them. “What’s fish for you? 0,1% of the GDP? We offered you a counterbalance in market exchange. Who cares about crushing your economy, anyway? Paris has got the top score among the business schools whereas London ended up in second place: we have _already_ proven that we are the best on that subject as well.”

“Michel is right,” France pointed out, taking this chance to butt into the argument in favour of his representative, much to England’s annoyance.

“David is way more right. You _know_ that we won’t give up on fish, therefore _you_ are the ones that should just accept our point and move on for the sake of everyone,” England said, appearing the most unconcerned person among the six of them. 

“And why would that be?” his husband replied, rising a dubious eyebrow at his image on the screen. “Besides, you can’t physically fish _our_ quota! You are just going to leave it there!”

“That has never been the point,” England explained plainly. “You _know_ that fish is what bothers _you_ the most. That’s why _we_ are not going to give it up.”

“May I point out that this reasoning is insane?” Macron took the chance to butt into the argument, looking more bored than crossed at that point, “we will always find a way around it, but on the other end you won’t have any market left for import and export. Besides, I would have expected a bit more resistance on us French crushing your broadcasting networks on the continent or on the wild amount of money you will still have to pay for the shared projects, yet you not only accepted it without even blinking, but you also condemned your Universities. By your own will. It’s not even fun like this.”

“The reason is way deeper than having it on the French, but it’s not like we will tell you at this point of the debate,” Johnson joined in, attempting to up a tiny bit the level of the British arguments despite it being the 14th of December already. “And _you_ are the one saying that what you are saying is our loss, _we_ do believe it’s a gain.”

“Oh, please, you know that’s really just bothering the French the point. Strangely enough what they are saying about our economics is true, not to mention Scotland leaving, Wales being angered, Northern Ireland ending up out of our market and Gibraltar being gifted to Spain without even saying goodbye!” England shot however against his own Prime Minister. “If we didn’t want to anger the French on the fish, we would have already ended this stupid fish drama.”

“Well, it’s Britons' fish, of course it would be stupid,” France shot back at his own husband, who just glared back at him on screen.

“Oh, and who is the one who wants it despite it being stupid?”

“Well, you don’t even know how to cook it!” France whined in answer to his husband, pouting in annoyance.

“This is getting old!” England replied, wishing for France’s statement not to be true or to hurt less than he intended.

“It’s true nonetheless!”

“It’s not true!” Johnson cut into the marital quarrel, unnerved by both nations’ antics as well as Macron’s smirk at hearing England’s blunt admission. “And we _do_ have a plan, and you _will see it_ in due time!”

“See what?” Macron answered him. “That even with a no deal we’ll keep fishing in your territorial waters? We French will also ignore bilateral and community resolutions! Let’s see how your navy will stop our fishermen!”

“Is war what you want?” Johnson countered annoyed, standing up from his seat to glare at his French counterpart. “You will be waging your obstinacy against a sovereign state!”

“Sovereign!? I would say a state that sold itself to the whims of people who don’t know what they really need!” Macron yelled back, standing as well to match with Johnson. “Your campaign for the Brexit was a joke you never had _the chance_ to deliver. Now no matter what you do, nothing will have you re-elected because you failed both government and propaganda!”

“Moreover, because of these nonsensical talks, we are _all_ losing _time_ and _resources_ ,” Barnier kept on, following his President’s lead. “Re-join the European Union already! We are in a pandemic and there’s the follow up of the economic crisis and of the terrorist attacks as well. We need to stand _together_!”

“Like you _can_ use the money for that! You will never get everyone else to vote in favour of what you need, not even on the only propositions that allow you to stay in game!” Frost replied to his French counterpart. “Europe can only finance stupid projects, because when something important comes up you have traitor nations dictating your line!!”

“The very same projects you will be still financing, though! And this even if ‘ _stop wasting money on the EU_ ’ was what you sold to your people in the campaign to the referendum!!” France countered in anger. “And for what? The green project you are selling is _our_ project! You should have stayed and help us French move it along for everyone! It would have given us all leverage in the market!”

“I won’t take offense from a dictator!” Johnson reprimanded the whole French side.

“ _You_ are the dictator!” Macron argued irately. “You do what’s good for _yourself_ , _I_ do what’s the best for _my nation_!”

“You _wish_! I will keep doing what the fuck I want!” France yelled back to his own president and, from there on, the exchange just became louder as it quickly escalated, mixing prejudices, politics, factual realities and blatant insults, until a sound of bagpipes echoed from the open microphones of the two nations’ computers, silencing everyone.

Both England and France turned to the source of the sound, the first looking to his left whilst the other looked to his right.

“ _Angleterre_ , _mon amour, c’est ton_ smartphone.” France pointed out to the nation he had harshly insulted only few seconds before.

“Yeah, I see.” England acknowledged, unwilling to even touch the device as he watched with dread who the incoming call was from. “Well, the fun is going to end, I guess. It’s annoying, though, we nations had just joined.”

“Oh, c’mon! We will certainly find other ways to amuse ourselves!” France reassured England, putting a caring hand on his husband’s and looking at him directly and not through the screen. “I’ll take care of the post Brexit bureaucracy, don’t worry! It will be hell for you~”

“Well, that’s reassuring…” England heaved a sigh of relief hearing France’s words, still he showed himself completely unwilling to answer the call.

France watched attentively his husband and then he just decided to answer the call for him. He took England’s mobile, then, and slid his finger over the green arrows.

“ _Allô_?” France greeted cheerfully, only to put the mobile far away from his ear not to end up deaf as a loud female voice started yelling from the other side of the phone.

“ _Stop this damned farce!!!! You are adult nations for fucks sake!!!_ ” She made clear from everyone to hear even before England moved closer to France and hit the button to put the conversation on speakerphone.

“ _Thank you, Kamala, most obliged_.” A very calm male voice took after his colleague, sounding no one other that the president elected of the United States. “ _As my colleague was saying, it would be preferable for everyone’s sake that you quickly reached an agreement of whatever sort. That could help us all come together as a United Force against whatever will come onto us, be it climate change or bringing peace around the world_.”

“I want to decide on my own, if you don’t mind,” Johnson protested eagerly.

“Oh well, decide on your own, then,” Macron bit back. “Then we French will take the full lead of the European armed forces, without even inviting you to the next war.”

“Like Germany will allow you that!” Johnson countered, insulted by the prospect. “And you will _never_ exclude us, your international agenda matches way more with ours than what you have with the rest of Europe! Our nations are married!”

“Oh our nations are married now? Weren’t you up for hard Brexit?” Macron teased. “Just wait and see! It’s not like the others can do anything about it!”

The fight that was about to start again between the two leaders was quickly cut short by their American –almost– counterpart.

“ _There will be no need to exclude anyone. We can all decide together what the best is for everyone_.”

“What if we want to keep on the belligerence, though?” France cut into the politician’s banter. “You are not really my favourite American candidate, you know?”

“Yeah, but it’s _your_ candidate nonetheless. He has a French second name and his son had a French name.” England reminded his husband, making France smiling happily at the aide memoire.

“Well yeah, you and America made a very good point for your case~” France purred in delight. “It was a way easier explanation than what Bernie had given me when he attempted to explain his decision to drop out of the presidential run to support him~”

“It’s just that you sell yourself cheaper than what your friends give you credit for. Thanks God I know you well enough,” England countered, only to end up incinerated via laptop screen by his own Prime Minister’s glare.

“ _You and I_ have to _talk_. That’s high treason!” Johnson countered annoyed, only to receive as an answer simply England’s shrug.

“Talk with yourself since you are not going to listen anyway. _I_ don’t want to die and, as you said before, _France and I are married_ ,” England answered haughtily to his Prime Minister, before turning his attention to his mobile. “That said, however, I don’t understand myself why we should receive orders from abroad.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” France approved England’s stance, for once agreeing with his husband.

“ _In all honesty, I think I do have a quite interesting point to add to your list of pros and cons,_ ” came the very calm yet chilly reply, reply that was followed by a dreadful silence.

“And that would be…?” the two nations asked eventually, both staring in apprehension at the darkened screen as they physically got nearer one another for support.

“ _Your bickering might give Trump more chances to keep your eldest in hostage, and then all your planning to make France and America once again central in the world panorama will be all for nothing. Even France’s shaming over the–_ ”

“The United Kingdom will capitulate.” England decided promptly. “Just give me and France about ten days to find a way out of the impasse with our governments.”

“Yeah, we’ll deal with ourselves like reasonable adult nations,” France confirmed in a hurry, grasping the fabric of England’s jacket in pure panic. “We’ll bring everything to bed and solve it through sex. Or we’ll leave everything for after the deal.”

“Wait a minute! Don’t I have a say in it?” Johnson countered irately, only to earn an even angrier England showing him the two thousand pages of the European last proposal France had gotten him.

“ _This_ is the European proposal of this summer!” England yelled at him before pointing his finger towards his husband. “And _they_ are French! I fucking married one, I know what I’m talking about! Believe me, in three years you will be discussing starting from this very same proposal!!”

“We can’t start from there! It’s not–”

“It’s reality! You have a choice: keep on with the hard Brexit and bring home only this or do something for your people for once. Still, the debate over these pages ends today!”

Before anyone could say anything else on the topic, England closed the call for everyone on his laptop and slid close the one with Biden on his mobile, before rushing out of the door of his house to talk directly to his government.

France, on the other hand, scrambled away from the table where he and England were having their joined conference call to get his own mobile and call America, in order to reassure himself that he was fine.

Relieved to hear that his son was in a lot of troubles but still in one piece, he decided to share with him some news about the twins in order to give him something nice to look forward until his own transition ended. Only when he was certain that America was back to his usual happy-go-lucky mood did France say his goodbyes and closed the call, reminding his son that his parents loved him dearly and that they would do anything to make it easier for him as soon as he got back into the world panorama.

Not really believing that England and America would honestly manage to get a hold of their governments, though, as soon as he had put his smartphone away France retrieved his agenda and rescheduled some online meetings with the governments of America, Japan, Canada and also with his own. He had already several back-up plans ready to match any foreseeable event, but planning a few more could only ensure that everything would go the best way possible.

* * *

“Yeah, Brexit honestly is the most stupid thing I could have gotten myself into. I didn’t foresee my sovereigns sending us straight towards a no deal masked as a treaty.” England concluded gloomily, shaking his head as to clear it from the bad memories. “To think that even Wales started rebelling–”

England wisely decided not to conclude his speech, considering the hateful glare coming from both his brothers.

“I thought we said that the place for the debate wasn’t Paris or Berlin but Brussels,” Germany spoke up then to accuse France, glaring at his fellow nation only to receive an innocent smile as an answer.

“Well, technically speaking we were all in London except Macron who was calling from Brussels.” France chirped merrily, much to Germany’s dismay. “We earned a swin for Europe, though. We French are pros at being annoyed and resentful.”

“Nothing to say to that,” England sighed in resignation. “Still, most of our problems come from both the very idea of brexiting and how it came to be. If you are masters in being vindictive we are the top of the class in destroy us with our own hands.”

“At least we have a place to start,” France reminded to his husband, who could only stare back at him adoringly, reassured by his attempt to comfort him.

“But if you are both fine with the outcome, why are you sitting far away from one another, then?” Romano questioned then, his surprised eyes moving from England to France.

“I was _working_. Sometimes it happens.” France explained calmly, glad that also Italy had calmed down in the meantime. “I took this chance to do something, since _they_ had a truce and Dover had just fallen asleep. It’s hard, dealing with two children in dire need for attention and work at the same time.”

“That’s true, you have the twins now,” Germany reminded himself, only then paying more attention at the English nation, currently cuddling one of the babies while the other slept soundly inside her own crib, placed near her sister’s one.

“Yeah, thank God they have the twins,” Scotland commented annoyed, looking just a tiny bit jealous as he stared at how the French side of the Strait was giggling happily in her father’s arms. “We would have already strangled England, otherwise.”

England groaned at his brother’s comment while France simply laughed at the scene, glad to be just a bystander in the actual mess this time.

“So… everything is going well?” Italy asked sniffling, eventually staring up overly worried at his cousin. “Are you _really_ fine?”

“Of course we are, the only one who can actively hurt France at the moment is France himself,” England answered in France’s place, earning an annoyed scoff from his husband.

“Look at who is talking now–” France countered, stopping abruptly before he could start his well-meant tirade of insults as Dover restlessly started to cry again.

“As I was saying…” France sighed tiredly, gesturing to Italy to move to the side so that he could stand up and go to settle the screaming child. “ _Angleterre_ , heat up some milk for Calais, will you? It’s almost time to eat for her as well, this time.”

“Aye…” England answered obediently, standing up from the sofa with the French side of the Strait still safe in his arms and then disappearing towards the kitchen to do what his husband had requested.

“Wait, you trust England with that!?” Romano asked flabbergasted, staring shocked at France who simply laughed at his cousin as he opened his shirt and sat down with Dover on the sofa England had just vacated. Much to the other continental nations’ surprise, as soon as he had settle the baby nation properly in his arms, the child eagerly started to suck on his nipple.

“He just has to push a button and wait until the light changes colour. Surprisingly, that much he can do,” France answered him quietly, caressing with his thumb the plump cheek of his daughter to relax her completely in his hold. “Besides, we brought the one with the highest number of protection systems on sale.”

“I was under the impression that you were about to stop lactating back in October,” Germany frowned, concernedly eyeing France feeding the babies. “You never mentioned anything about the children or about your situation after that.”

“I thought I would, so much that I had almost gotten back my chest as it was before. Then the Brexit negotiations derailed,” France informed him, finally showing openly to the others his disappointment over the current situation of their affairs. “That prompted the milk to come back, in order to match up with the mess happening at Dover. We don’t have any other way to ease her distress at the moment, so I guess it’s bound to stay like this for a while longer.”

“Dover? Not Calais?” Germany asked surprised, feeling just a bit guilty for no reason at all, as England re-entered the room with Calais and her baby-bottle.

“To put it plainly: Dover hates me. She desperately needs contact and feeding from France,” England explained quietly, as he went to sit next to his husband to feed their French child, who had noticed the baby bottle and was eagerly attempting to reach for it. “Dover doesn’t even accept her baby bottle anymore, and even when she does, if it’s me who attempts feeding her, there’s no way to make her eat.”

The confession made all the three continental nations to stare at their friends, surprised as well as worried to know that they had decided to deal with all those problems by themselves. If reticence was understandable for England, who had all the interests to withhold any negative information about his whereabouts, why France had decided to keep everything a secret from them made no sense. 

“If France’s milk were to stop before we solve the mess in Kent, or if there were to be problems in Pas-de-Calais as well and Calais gets restless like her sister… this is going to become a real problem.” England continued to explain, oblivious of the other three nations stares on them as he watched troubled the daughter he was currently holding in his arms. “As for the moment, France has barely enough milk for Dover, not to mention that if Calais were to hate me as well France wouldn’t be able to do his work anymore, since he would have to care alone for the children.”

“There’s no way that Calais would stop searching for you, I keep an attentive look on her! Dover, on the other hand, it’s obvious that she would hate you. You are starving her!” France snorted, cuddling his English daughter closer to him protectively. “She eats two times as much as what her sister needs and still it is not enough.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m causing all of this on purpose!” England protested as he turned to his husband, annoyed, only to be glared at by France.

The game of glares kept on until England eventually lowered his stare, sighing in defeat and resignation.

“America and France are searching for a way around the mess,” England admitted to the other European countries, eventually.

“Yeah, luckily enough he took after _me_ ,” France pointed out haughtily.

“ _Un_ luckily, you meant,” England, annoyed, countered. “Look at your throat! It’s still healing even though it’s been months since the attacks.”

Only after hearing the married couple’s banters did the three European nations notice that the tricoloured foulard around France’s neck wasn’t just for show, but it was in truth hiding some thick white bandages. That was something else that added to the list of things France had not told them about, even though in this case they could easily imagine why their friend had kept silent about the whole matter.

“ _Ta gueule, Angleterre_! You’ve been just cruel to you poor suffering husband when I was attacked,” France growled, before just pouting miserably at England. “I was hurting and you mocked me.”

“Well, it was to be expected from _me_ , much less from your cohorts.” England pointed out, staring back disapprovingly at Germany and at the two Italies, who had the distinct feeling of being caught red handed. “Brexit might have been a dumb idea, but really, I don’t see much of that socialist hope and companionship you are babbling about on your newspapers.”

Without waiting for an answer, England leaned against his lover to get his attention back on him before France could give it to his allies inside the Union, and left a gentle kiss over his bandaged neck. A small smile appeared on France’s lips at the gesture, as the French nation turned around properly to his husband to kiss him chastely on his lips.

Germany and the two Italies, who had rushed to England thinking that they had to save their friend from the English ratification of the Brexit treaty, when confronted with the small family picture their friends made had to admit that they had lacked quite a bit of perspective. If it was true that it was completely normal for the two husbands to have a bickering relationship, on the other hand they still completely lacked even the basic reasons to believe themselves better allies for France than England was.

“It’s not like we didn’t want to support you, Big Brother,” Italy tried to defend himself and the Union. “It’s just that you are a bit too extreme sometimes…”

“If I have to lie to protect myself, then I might as well disappear from the face of the Earth.” France snapped back at his cousin, glaring at the three continental nations through the corner of his eyes. “This is who I am. Accept it or leave it.”

“Isn’t that a bit too drastic, France? We are trying to be helpful in other ways-” Germany complained, earning a chuckle from the English nation, still adoringly facing his husband.

“It seems to me that you know very little about France.” England interrupted Germany, still staring at his husband. “ _Drastic_ might be France’s actual name.”

“Then it would be _Radical_ ~” France chirped happily at his side, his attention completely absorbed once again by his lover.

“And I love how _radical_ you can be~”

“ _Merci_ ~”

As the couple moved to simple teasing stares to kiss deeply one another, all the other nations present inside the room could distinctly tell they were now intruding on what was about to become a very… private moment.

“Mind a pint?” Scotland offered to the three European nations, literally showing them outside the house. “We could start discussing about how _we_ can get a better deal for ourselves at my own place.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing that, in case it’s good for me too.” Wales was quick to add as he helped his brother to push the other three nations outside before France and England forgot where they were.

As soon as they were once again back alone, however, England simply stopped kissing France, so that he could coerce the other nation to hold him closer with the arm he wasn’t using to hold Dover, who had eventually fallen deeply asleep once again, nestled against France’s chest, just as Calais had done against England’s chest.

“We’ll make it through, won’t we?” He asked, sounding sincerely scared as he stared at their twins. “If- if we survived this damned year only to lose them the next, I–”

“ _Angleterre_ ,” France interrupted him, only to disentangle from his hold to place the two children back in their cradles, put aside Calais’ bottle and finally go back to hold England properly in his arms. “The agreement is full of loopholes and you know I’ll do everything in my power to exploit each one of them. I’ll do everything in my power to bring you back, and if I can’t do it… well, I’ll manage for the both of us in the middle, and if everything fails… We already know the drill, don’t we?”

“What if _I_ can’t survive this?” England kept complaining though, holding tight to his husband. “What if _the children_ can’t survive this?”

“You always got my back in recent years, I think it’s time for me to remind you that I'm just as good at having yours.” France reassured England. “You just need to trust me, _Angleterre_. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to push Europe towards what will be good for the both of us.”

Before England could protest on the topic some more, France leaned over to kiss him deeply once again, the needy yet gentle searching of his tongue against England's easily affecting his husband as France slowly pushed him to lay down on the sofa.

Aroused by the soft moans England made into the kiss, France stood up long enough to start working on England’s trousers before changing his mind at the last minute and opening his own, freeing himself from the constricting garments.

“France-” England called out, quite hating himself for how desperate and needy his voice sounded to his own ears.

The worst of the wild mess they were in was that the four years and a half in which his government had done its best to tear away the United Kingdom from the European Union had, as the only ridiculous result, that to turn England even more desperate and needy for his husband. A desire that made England feel as if he had regressed to that time when he’d been only a bit more than a child, when he hadn’t had a solid relationship with anyone except France.

Back to a time where his brothers were still on their own and barely came to say him hello, despite living on the same island. Back to a time where he was striving for recognition, but lost all his wars to the nation he so secretly admired. Back to a time in which he pleaded France to take him harder and harder each time, until he forgot the nothing he felt he was surrounded with, and where he dreamed to tie up France as his only chance to get the lands he so much desired as ransom.

Was this the future that was ahead of him? As far as his body was concerned, it certainly looked like it, even though he had _always_ been the one more akin to choose the receiving side even when he had a full political grasp on his husband’s whereabouts.

Still, the way Calais adored France but clung onto England and the way Dover was completely dependent from France seemed to put in clear view how their hardly gained equilibrium had shattered and how England had completely lost the upper hand, no matter from which side he looked at the situation.

“Are you fine, _mon amour_?” France asked him, his voice full of worry as he knelt once again between England’s legs and stopped his movements to look at his lover, caressing his cheek lovingly with one hand.

As an answer, England suddenly sat up to put his arms around his lover’s neck, attempting to drag France as close as he could to him in that strange position.

“ _Angleterre_?” France asked, surprised by England’s drive.

“Don’t leave me!” England cried out, somehow voicing both his own and Dover’s fears with that simple plea. “Please, I need you, France…”

“ _Mon trésor_ , who else is supposed to fill my days and give meaning to my existence except you?” France cooed gently, allowing England to rest once again fully back on the sofa, before he held him in his arms as tightly as he could. “It’s your people who decided to leave the Union, but no one said that it should disrupt what we have always had.”

“Then _why_ am I feeling like this?” England bit back, beginning to cry against France’s naked chest. “Why is Dover so dependent on you? She must feel the same, no wonder she cries… It’s devastating! I’m… I’m scared!”

“Changes are scary, _mon lapin_ , it’s only obvious that you would feel like this.” France attempted to explain, caressing kindly England’s back to reassure him. “Besides, you are downgrading your arrangements, if you are scared and unsure… It’s just to be expected.”

“I’m feeling like a child left alone in the ocean.” England admitted, and France had to bite his lower lip not to make any comment about it being just the situation England was in, since even the basic arrangements had become temporary and subjected to arbitration or to the other part demands. Not to mention that what really mattered to England found no place in the agreement… Those two thousand pages were supposed to be the starting point of the debate, they were never intended to be the actual deal. 

“That’s why I’m here to have your back.” France told him instead, doing his best to make England look up at him. “Scared child nations are easy to rule, _Angleterre_. You need to be strong, for me and for all of our children. You are not a country of rocks and forests anymore: you are dangerous in the wrong hands, just look at what happened to America.”

“France-”

“Love me, England, and always look at me like you have always done–” France pleaded, tugging England’s vest open, then his shirt, to tease his nipples with his fingers, practiced motions familiar to the both of them. The sudden action earned a loud moan from England, who remembered the two children sleeping not far from them a second too late. He could only put a hand over his mouth to muffle his cries, though, since France’s slow and attentive ministrations affected him more than he wanted to admit.

It still felt like it had been too long since France had been this proactive, and England… he’d missed this, and he found it difficult to keep his noises down, turned on by the intense gaze of his lover and by the heat he felt growing in his chest.

Noticing England’s distress, France allowed himself a satisfied smirk before he moved back up to lick the sensitive area under England’s earlobe, successfully making him moan once again as he met France’s hips with his own, grinding up into him in desperate need for more friction.

“Move on~” England pleaded, his voice barely audible from behind his hand, his breathing heavy.

France, swallowing at the hot picture England made like this, so openly desperate for him, retrieved the lotion from his discarded trousers, but aside for that didn’t show any desire to continue as England had asked him to. Instead, he kept kissing and caressing England’s body to his heart’s content, tearing down his husband’s self control with each lick, caress and stroke.

“Fra–” England attempted to call for his husband, only to bite down on his lips not to cry out in pleasure as France chose precisely that moment to molest England’s clothed cock. “Fuck you, France!”

The swearing was accompanied by an energetic kick to France’s side, stopped mid-motion by the very attentive French nation.

“Ah, well, that was finally loud enough to hear~” France chirped happily, seeing England finally foregoing his own tensions. “C’mon, let me hear your beautiful voice~”

France took advantage of the firm hold he still had on England’s calf to spread his legs wide enough to finish undoing his trousers and then free his lover from the annoying garment. The sight of France finally undressing him slightly calmed down England, calm that didn’t last long. Instead of freeing his cock from his underwear, France had instead resumed tormenting England’s lithe body, moving slowly and excruciatingly down with bites, licks, kisses and caresses.

The tent his cock made, straining his underwear, let France know he was doing alright.

England whimpered in frustration, ready to come the moment France finally moved to his cock, licking and sucking over the damp spot of his underwear where its leaking head was. Desperate to escape the sheer torture, England kicked at France’s sides again, though it failed to do anything since France’s position between his legs made it hard to aim properly and also because of his own loss of focus, the pleasure distracting in the most delicious ways.

“Move~ On!” he pleaded again, his voice a scream that would have echoed clear inside the room if not for the hands still clutched over his mouth. “Fran–”

England’s plea died in his throat as France tugged his underwear down and took his cock in his hand. When the fuck did France have time to put lotion on his hand?? He had no time to think too much about it, though, because France’s hand on his cock was exactly one of the things he had most wanted during the last minutes of fooling around.

“Like this?” France asked innocently, as if it wasn’t already clear enough how much England liked what he was doing.

While his hand moved slowly but with purpose on his lover’s cock, France moved England’s underwear fully out of the way.

“More, France~” England moaned, much to France’s satisfaction.

On his end, France kept stroking England’s cock with one hand, grip firm around his girth, while he slowly made his way back up, lips and tongue first teasing his belly, then his chest, his nipples, his neck and cheeks, pace so slow it was a crescendo of pleasure and frustration for both of them. Eventually, France decided to up the ante slightly and he kissed England deeply, his tongue finding no resistance from his husband as he claimed his lead in their maddening dance.

The kiss was languid but deep, tongue moving at the same rhythm as his hand on England’s cock, squeezing when he licked, rubbing the underneath with his fingers when he nibbled England’s lips with his teeth.

Only when he was certain that England was completely distracted did France move his free hand lower, penetrating his husband to prepare him, first one finger then the other, slowly spreading his cheeks and scissoring him, careful not to hurt him. By that time, England felt so close to come that he couldn’t even wait for France to insert the third finger before he snapped at his lover.

“France!” England said angrily, pushing France at enough distance that he could glare at him properly. “shove your good for nothing dick inside of me or I swear to you that deal or no deal you _will_ end up evirated before tomorrow!”

Seeing his lover so angered made France burst into laughter. He let himself fall over his husband and held him tight, nuzzling his nose against his neck adoringly.

“This is my England,” France murmured to his husband, having noticed his confused expression as they stared at one another, “I love seeing you so needy and desperate for me, but if you ever lost your grumpy character, I would get worried.”

“You molested me on purpose, didn’t you?” England realised, pouting annoyed at his lover.

“As I always do with you, where's the news there?” France confessed shamefully, much to his lover’s annoyance. “You are feeling more unsure than usual because of the Brexit, but you are still England and I’m still by your side. If Dover cries for help, my people will even cross la Manche to ease things for her. If you two need support, I’ll always be here to find a solution together with you.”

“What about the rest of the Union?” England asked, slightly worried by how easy France was making it sound.

“There’s nothing in this world I can’t deal with, and it will certainly help that the power you left behind I managed to keep for myself, at the moment,” France told England before claiming his lips once again into a heated kiss. “And even without it, if I could deal with you for almost two thousand years, any other nation is an easy game.”

“Would you still be saying that if we end up going to war against one another?” England wondered.

“Our Entente Cordiale is not Europe, _Angleterre_. We are stronger than that, you said that yourself. Things won’t change only because we aren’t talking about hypothesis anymore.” France reminded him as he resumed preparing England a bit better. “Besides, isn’t war what we were doing while rising America and Canada? They didn’t really turn out so bad, and after war sex is a kink we didn’t explore in a while.”

“Other nations might see it differently, especially considering the way our America grew up and the devastation we brought around the world only to fight with one another.” England managed to say, before moaning once again thanks to France’s still slow and teasing touches everywhere on his body.

Fuck it if England didn’t like the way this narcissistic and egoistic nation made him feel; even if his sovereign had managed to get a Brexit like promised and they had gotten a full victory over the EU, England would have been unable to feel like he had properly won over France.

“Ready, _mon coeur_?” France whispered into his ear and, before England could find any coherent word to answer him, he finally felt France’s cock push inside him.

“Fra- France~” England moaned, swept away as France started to slowly thrust into him. England wanted hard and fast, but he had to acknowledge that France’s careful and caring choice was probably for the best. Love, reassurance and the promise that they could always count on a reality that was only theirs was the _actual_ answer he was searching from France.

This was something he knew that he could always count on France for: no matter what happened, he would always give him the answer and the support he needed, even though it might not be always what he’d thought he wanted at the beginning.

As the pace finally built up to what he preferred, though, England started to reciprocate, taking pleasure into caressing France’s sweating torso, from the hard sides and abs to the too soft chest and the too sore nipples, still leaking milk whenever he pinched them too hardly.

“ _Angleterre_ , please don’t,” France complained at the teasing, his cheeks visibly turning red in embarrassment. “All of this is still extremely awkward…”

England answered him with a smirk and, instead of following his lover's requests, he latched his lips to the nipple Dover hadn’t been suckling on before, in order to bite and suck on it just enough to disrupt France’s pace and allow a soft moan escaping his lips.

“You still like it, though~” England teased, shivering in pleasure and turning harder himself at the taste of the sweet liquid on his tongue.

“You are a little demon, you know _Angleterre_?” France countered, quickening his pace until England couldn’t do much except moan and call his name.

Nevertheless, England wasn’t still so far gone to give up putting into action his revenge on his lover. He stretched his hand towards France’s neck, then, and with a quick move undid France’s tricoloured foulard. The sly movement caught France’s attention, but he didn’t realise what his husband’s intentions were until England dragged him down towards him and latched his lips right over the bandages around his neck.

The tease made France groan in pleasure and his hips moved faster, thrusting deeper and deeper into his lover. England desperately attempted to continue with his plan and undo the bandages so he could lap at the red, angry scar that reminded him of having lost his lover to the Terreur, but in the end he had to give up. France felt too good as he thrusted inside him, the smell of his sweat surrounding him, his soft, long hair brushing over his heated skin… they were so lost in one another that it didn’t take them long before they reached their limit and came.

France eventually collapsed, exhausted, on top of England, who was quick to embrace him and hold him close.

Before they could even finish catching their breaths, both of them instinctively searched for their husband’s lips, as to reassure themselves that it was more than just plain desire that drew them to one another.

“I could never divorce _you_ , you know France?” England revealed eventually, earning only an inquisitive moan from his lover in answer. The English nation’s hand, in the meanwhile, moved to cup the side of France’s neck, in an unconscious attempt to confirm that his lover was fine, now that they had momentarily satisfied their desire to be one. “Sex with you is something else entirely.”

“Sex with me is the only thing you know, to be honest,” France pointed out with a sigh, moving a bit upwards to look England in the eyes to show him all his insecurity. “You know, I’ve often wondered if one day you will just decide to try someone else. I might even let you… and then you will chose someone else over me, and my heart will shatter.”

“You read too many romance novels, France,” England reprimanded his husband, kissing his sad pout hoping to make it disappear. “Why would I ever need to try someone else?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I think is only natural to wish to experiment with something you never had the chance to try…” France averted his eyes from England’s, missing his slightly reproachful gaze. “I bound you to me as soon as you began thinking about sex and now… look at us. Look at how far we have gotten. Domesticity kills Love.”

“I think it’s quite arrogant of you thinking that you stole my innocence, you know?” England answered to France’s point, earning his surprised blue eyes back on him. “When we had sex in 1214, it might have been my first time, but it’s not like I never thought about having sex with you before.”

“ _Angleterre_ –” France blurted out in shock, blushing heavily at the revelation.

“Moreover, where are you seeing domesticity killing out love? It didn’t even managed to kill our desire to murder and conquer one another!” England pointed out. “Whenever you think about this bullshit, you are forgetting that we _make_ each other’s identity, France. Without you, I wouldn’t be England.”

“This much I know, since I wouldn’t be France without you, but it doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t want to try another nation as your lover,” France huffed in annoyance, feeling like England was shrugging off way too easily the doubts that had always kept nagging him in the back of his heart. “You might be searching for someone else to look at, someone that would turn you into something different. Just because it’s always been like this between us, in war and in peace, nothing says that things must stay the same.”

England cuddled closer to France in an affectionate gesture. “I like myself like this, despite the chaotic mess I am and the madness going through my politics at the moment,” England admitted. “I like the part of you that I see in myself, and I like the part of me that I see in you. This is one of the reasons why I can’t tear my eyes off you.”

“And I thought _I_ was the narcissist, here,” France teased, allowing their lips to meet once again. “Let’s look forward to yet another eternity of us, then.”

“Yeah, let’s look forward to us. However we will be.”

* * *

**The end**


End file.
